


No Wizard Is an Island

by Novaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apothecary Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Community: harrydracobang, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, F/M, Getting Back Together, HP:EWE, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaa/pseuds/Novaa
Summary: For a life is made of the people living it, and no wizard is an island. A twenty-years journey in the intertwined lives of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Draco and Harry.





	1. To Hell with the Wallflowers (2000)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Spoilers: Career Ending Injuries, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Mental Health Issues
> 
> I was lucky enough to have a a lot of help while writing this fic. I couldn't have done it without the help and support of all these amazing people who listened to me rant and complain. Thanks to tdcat for being such an amazing editor and a supportive friend, to notobvioustome for reading this fic multiple times and having my back and keyflight for helping me go through the finish line, to nerdherderette for her sensitivity read for Chapter 2 and general support, to leontina and cyanoxile for our little Writbuds group and all that it entailed, to Tami, frnklymrshnkly, sassycissa, uchihabloodline and restlessordinary for their thoughtful comments, to the mods and the volunteer betas for their patience and hard work, and to aibidil, Janel and Gracie who way too often listened to me blabber about this fic.  
>    
>  And of course, endless thanks to [prettypurpleflower](http://pflowerart.tumblr.com) and [rareradish](http://ultrarareradish.tumblr.com) for their beautiful artworks. I'm so glad we got a chance to do a collab together.  
>    
>  Anyway, that's it, I hope you enjoy the ride! 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between cranky wandless Slytherins roaming the streets of Muggle London, two best friends too wrapped up in their own life to notice something’s wrong, starting a career, dealing with the aftermath of the war and the loss of her parents, Hermione struggles to find her place in the world.

#  **TO HELL WITH THE WALLFLOWERS**

* * *

###  **JANUARY**

“Happy New Year!” everyone yells in unison.

It’s a lovely cacophony that warms Hermione’s heart. She takes a sip from her champagne glass and laughs at something utterly ridiculous Ginny says. As she looks around, admiring their new flat, she feels confident the year 2000 is going to be the year she gets her life back together. The Witching Shack, as Ginny baptised it, is the result of a very drunk Hermione commiserating with an even drunker Ginny about the woes of their lives—a conversation that somehow ended up in a heated talk with dismayed Aurors and the quite angry Wizarding Office for Extensions Spells, after Hermione had turned Ginny’s new small two bedrooms flat into a much larger one on the spur of the moment. Three months after having moved in, Hermione regrets nothing.

She leaves Ginny to entertain their guests in the living room and goes to refill her drink on the tray by the balcony. There, she catches sight of two men kissing so intently that they should be given a speleology award. They eventually tear themselves apart—probably to catch their breath, Hermione thinks—and she can’t help but smirk into her champagne when she realises the two men are in fact Ron Weasley and Viktor Krum.

“Hermione!” She smiles at the familiar sound of her name spoken with Viktor’s strong accent. “Chestita nova godina!” he says, his voice deep and smooth as he speaks Bulgarian, and opens his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Happy New Year, Viktor,” she says, returning his embrace. She eyes Ron, whose cheeks are redder than his Christmas sweater. “And a Happy New Year to you too, Ron,” she adds with a mischievous smile.

“Yes, I, thank you,” he splutters. “I think Harry’s calling for me, I’ll see you later, all right? Lovely,” Ron says, cracking a goofy smile as he flees.

Viktor frowns a little and puts his massive hand on Hermione’s shoulder. It looks a little like a paw, remembering quite vividly the other traits Viktor shared with amorous feline creatures.

“Are you sure it’s all right?” he starts, then grins. “ _Hermione_ ,” he adds smugly, and it sends her into a helpless fit of laughter. It took him years to get it right, and now Viktor just drops her name repeatedly in every conversation they have. Of course, she knows he’s aware of how ridiculous it is, but it only spurs him on to do it more.

“It’s fine Viktor, don’t worry. We’re all good friends.” She looks at him and clasps the hand on her shoulder firmly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I,” he says. Viktor takes her into his arms again, silently conveying his feelings as only old friends can. They pull away, and Hermione catches sight of Ron trying to reason with a distraught Harry near the Floo. Viktor follows her gaze. “I see you three are still joined at the hip.” He smiles. “I like a woman who values friendship.”

Hermione gives him an apologetic smile and walks briskly to her friends. “Harry, are you okay?”  _Not the scar, not the scar, not the scar_ , chants a little voice in her mind—that part of her that will never completely believe the war is over.

“He Flooed Andromeda,” Ron whispers as they guide Harry to the kitchen, shooing away to the living room the lingering guests. “He woke up Teddy. She wasn’t too happy with him.”

Hermione refrains from rolling her eyes. Of course Teddy would be asleep at almost one in the morning. He’s twenty months old. But Hermione can see that Harry is drunk, sad, and lonely, and doesn’t need her to lecture him about child rearing. Not now, at least. “You’ll Floo in tomorrow,” she says instead, sitting next to him at the kitchen table while Ron makes tea.

“I just wanted to tell them I’ll do better this year,” he says, his words slightly slurred. “I know I haven’t been the best… the best godfather there is, but I can be.” He frowns at his hands clasped on his lap. “I think I can be.”

“Of course you can, mate,” Ron asserts firmly before he hands Harry a warm cup of tea. “It’s been a rough couple of months, yeah? You get to make mistakes once in a while.”

“We’re here for you,” Hermione adds. “You’re not alone in this. And we mess up too, you know.” She looks up at Ron, and they smile at each other, warm and confident.

Ron sits on Harry’s other side. “Everything is going to be okay. New millennium, and all.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “The new millennium is next year, Ron.”

He snorts a good-natured laugh. “I so don’t care, you have no idea!” he says, and they all burst out laughing. She was so sure their friendship wouldn’t survive their break-up, but so far, the past eight months have proven her wrong. She smiles to herself and rubs Harry’s back. It’s not often that Hermione Granger can say she’s happy about being wrong.

“Hey, Ron,” Ginny says as she walks in. She takes a seat opposite Harry, her eyes focused on him like a hunting beast. “I think Krum is looking for you.”

Ron frowns. “But—”

“We’ll stay with Harry,” Ginny interrupts smoothly, leaning back on her chair with a wolfish smile on her face as she not so discreetly starts to play footsie with Harry under the table.

“All right. Catch up later, mate?” Ron says. He clasps Harry’s shoulder, too distracted to notice Harry’s lustful look or his flushed cheeks.

“You’re lucky he’s drunk and horny,” Hermione comments once Ron is out of hearing range.

“Your phone keeps ringing,” Ginny says, and Harry, who is now beet red, coughs awkwardly.

Hermione snorts, not buying it. “At this hour?” Ginny meets her eyes steadily and Hermione frowns. “Who?”

Ginny shrugs, still holding her gaze. “No idea,” she lies, and Hermione is ever so thankful to have her as a flatmate.

“I’ll get to it,” Hermione says, her voice carefully even as she stands up. “Have fun,” she adds, closing the door behind her, ignoring the immediate clattering sound that follows it. She walks up to the Floo and grabs her phone. Eight missed calls. She immediately calls back, her heart racing.

“What’s going on?” Hermione barks, both angry and worried.

“Please come,” the voice on the other end of the line says. “We don’t know what to do.”

Hermione sighs. “Fine. Are you in Camden?”

“No. We’re at the Islington house.”

“I’ll be there in five.” She hesitates. “And Pansy? Please hide anything you know I shouldn’t see.”

“Already did,” she says and hangs up.

“Fucking Slytherins,” Hermione groans as she grabs her purse and Apparates to Islington. At first, the room is so dark Hermione wonders if she has somehow Splinched herself into oblivion. Then she reminds herself that she’s a bit tipsy, and also a witch, and she casts a quick Lumos, which reveals her very own crowd of distraught Slytherins.

“Hermione, thank Merlin you’re here!” Theodore says, all indignation and posh accent.

“ _‘God_ _,’_ Theo, not  _‘Merlin,’_ ” she says by rote. She can’t have them swearing to Merlin in the Muggle world. “Why are you all sitting in the dark? I know you have a nasty dramatic streak, but isn’t this a bit too much?”

Suddenly, Draco Malfoy’s face spawns out of nowhere, nearly scaring Hermione out of her skin. “Are you mad? Do you think we would purposefully do this to ourselves?!” he says, frantic. Hermione is not alarmed; he always gets a bit antsy when it’s dark, or in enclosed places in general.

“Shut up, Draco,” Millicent says. “We were drinking and listening to music, eating junk food and all, just like the Muggles do, and suddenly everything went dark. We tried to fix it, but we have no idea how elecrity works.”

“ _Electricity_ ,” Hermione corrects. “It must be the fuses.” Guiding herself with her wand—closely followed by Helen Dawlish who peers at her like a hawk—she looks for the electric meter, flips a few switches and light floods the house again.

“You should have told us about the fuzzes,” Blaise complains, his arms crossed on his chest.

Hermione did tell them. Multiple times. “Yes, I should have,” she says nonetheless. After a year and a half working with the Official Vanguard Executive Rehabilitation Committee Overseeing Muggle Education program, she has learned to pick her battles, and to be fond instead of angry when her protégés—friends now, if she’s honest—are stuck on something. “Are you settled in?” she asks as she flops down on a comfortable sofa and pulls out a pen and a notebook. “Who lives where?”

“Millicent, Pansy, Greg, and Helen picked the Camden flat, while Blaise, Draco, and I will live here, in the Islington house,” Theo says matter-of-factly.

“All right,” she says and quickly scribbles the information in the notebook. “Now that you’re settled, you can go back to…” She smiles affectionately. “Partying like the Muggles do.”

There’s an awkward silence, and then Gregory clears his throat. “Do you want to party with us?” he asks quietly. Hermione watches as the others’ faces each turn a different shade of red, even Millicent’s.

“Sure,” Hermione agrees, and ten minutes later, they are all clinking their glasses together. “To a brand-new year!” she says, and they all cheer.

2000 is going to be an interesting year indeed.

###  **FEBRUARY**

“Remind me again why that trunk isn’t Shrinkable?” Harry complains as he tries to free the bloody thing from where it’s stuck in the Floo. Hermione doesn’t feel sympathetic. She’s the one who had to drag it down the too-many stairs of the Burrow.

“It’s my Chudley Cannons collection! I’m not taking any chances!” comes Ron’s voice from the other side.

“You have a full  _trunk_?!”

“This is why I wouldn’t move in with him,” Hermione jokes from the sofa, watching intently as Harry pulls and grunts. “Can you imagine how your living room will look once he pulls out all that orange memorabilia?”

Harry drops the trunk and turns to stare at her with wide eyes. “I have not spent months of my life trying to make this place a decent home to have it overtaken by the Chudley Cannons,” he says indignantly.

Hermione smiles, reminiscing about those long days the three of them brought the house down to rebuild it afterwards. The ground floor is made of a vestibule with a staircase to the upper floors and a long corridor leading to the garden, a door to the right towards the wide kitchen with its worktop and long dining table, and a door to the left leading to the living room with the Floo, a television, a comfy sofa and three armchairs. On the right side of the first floor, there is the master bedroom with an en suite—Harry’s—and two guest rooms on the left, one about to be taken by Ron, the other desperately lifeless as Harry still gathers the courage to invite Teddy to stay over and decorate the room with him and Andromeda. The second floor has an office, a storage room, a bathroom and a ladder leading to the attic. It has taken a lot of work, between pulling off the ugly wallpaper, getting rid of the awful and scary heirlooms—Hermione still has nightmares about those house-elves’ heads sometimes—and the reorganisation of the space with the help of her spell work, but the result is worth it.

They spent some terrible nights, plagued by nightmares and the ominous cries of the remaining paintings, the memories of the war still fresh in their minds. But they also made some precious memories while repainting the house from top to bottom, throwing out old smelly curtains and bringing back light into the house.

Now, Grimmauld Place is no longer grim and dreadful, it is luminous and almost homey. Pictures of Harry and his friends cover the walls, along with some photographs and paintings sent by Luna and Neville from their travels. There are also newspaper clippings of worthwhile achievements of people Harry cares about, be it the nomination of Minerva McGonagall as Headmaster of Hogwarts, or Ginny being drafted by the Holyhead Harpies. Marks of a full life filled with promises of a better tomorrow. A far cry from the hellhole Sirius used to live in. Hermione knows the storage room is all but a memory deposit, with stuff from his parents, Sirius, and even Remus. Harry says he wants to keep them for Teddy, and eventually his own kids. Hermione thinks he just can’t let go. But she’s learned that, sometimes, it’s smarter to keep things to herself, even when she’s right.

“And that’s the last of it,” Ron says proudly as he slouches into his favourite armchair, the red Chesterfield with Crookshanks’ scratches all over the armrest.

“Welcome home,” Harry says, gently punching Ron’s shoulder with a good-natured smirk.

“Should we order something?” Hermione asks after making sure her Levitation spells brought Ron’s stuff to their intended destination.

“I’ll phone the Muggle pizzeria down the block,” Harry says. He goes to the vestibule where the only phone of the house is plugged, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the living room.

They look at each other, smiling somewhat awkwardly. Most of the time, they get along just fine, but once in a while, the weight of their past relationship and its utter failure is much like an Erumpent in a porcelain shop.

“I have to tell you something,” Ron starts, his cheeks promptly going scarlet. “I’ve been seeing someone, like for real. I’m planning something for Valentine’s Day and all. It’s serious, sort of.”

Hermione takes the time to compose herself, forbidding herself to dwell on the fact that Ron never planned anything when they were together. He was too busy sowing his wild oats with Harry in Auror training as they refused to face their grief and scars from the war, while Hermione was working with the bloody Minister for Magic to rehabilitate at-risk youths and studying for her N.E.W.T.s. “That sounds wonderful,” she says with a tight smile. “Who is it?”

“Who’s who?” Harry asks, arms full of pizza boxes.

“That was quick,” Ron says, eager to change the subject.

“I Apparated there like the lazy sod I am.” Harry sits on the fluffy carpet, a horrible white thing with big threads that looks like some sort of fantasy wig, one of the many things Harry was adamant about buying when they redecorated. “So, whom are we talking about?”

“Ron’s new girlfriend,” Hermione deadpans.

Harry remains quiet, like he often does when someone brings up Ron and Hermione’s break-up. It’s been nine months since the war memorial and their split-up, and he’s still terrified to see their friendship blow up.

“It’s Lisa Turpin,” Ron mutters, ears reddening even more.

Hermione takes a deep breath, swallowing down the string of misogynistic expletives that instinctively comes to her mind—she’s only human after all, what matters is that she refuses to entertain those thoughts. Not for more than a minute or two, at least. “Lovely,” she says instead, almost managing to sound sincere. “I’d love to meet her sometime.” She loves Ron, and she wants him to be happy, with or without her. After all, breaking up was a joint decision, and one made from a place of love and respect for what they shared. She wants to treasure and protect that, even if it means playing nice with the skank—no, with the woman now dating her ex-boyfriend.

“Really?” Ron asks, doubtful.

“Really?” Harry asks as well, fuck knows why.

“Really,” Hermione repeats, and don’t they sound nice, like a little parrot circle. “Now can we eat? I’m famished.” And with that, the conversation turns to the cardinal sins of Harry’s pineapple pizza and the merits of Ron’s pepperoni one. Ron and Harry agree that Hermione is mad to go vegetarian, because “Pork, Hermione! And chicken!” are valid arguments when discussing speciesism in Harry and Ron’s books, the idiots. Hermione takes a bite of her cheese and eggplant pizza and smiles. Idiots, yes, but  _her_  idiots.

 

_Art by Radish_

 

###  **MARCH**

“This isn’t going to work,” Draco says firmly. He crosses his arms over his chest in definite refusal, looking angrily at the cup of tea in front of him on the kitchen table of the Islington house rented by the Ministry for OVERCOME purposes.

Hermione takes a deep breath, calling to all the great wizards and witches that ever were to give her the strength to stay calm and composed in the face of adversity, which, she knows, is no small favour considering that adversity has taken the form of a very stubborn Draco Malfoy.

“Draco,” she says in a carefully neutral voice. “You  _have_  to get a job. It’s a mandatory part of the program.”

Draco sighs, quite obnoxiously, in Hermione’s opinion. “I just want to do something that will be appropriate to my skills and standing.”

Hermione clears her throat. “This is the final part of your sentence. It’s not supposed to accommodate your hopes and dreams,” she says dryly, staring him down.

Draco’s face loses its smugness, and he grabs his pack of cigarettes, a nasty habit he acquired during the first month of Muggle immersion. He lights up one, closes his eyes, and takes a slow, long drag. It’s sort of hypnotic, if Hermione’s honest, the way his face relaxes and smoothes over when he inhales the smoke.

“What’s the real problem here?” Hermione asks in a gentler voice.

Draco shakes his head, his mouth twitching. “It’s just hard sometimes,” he says in a small voice. “Getting out of the house.”

Hermione briefly considers taking his hand but decides against it. Neither of them is ready for that kind of intimacy. “Have you been in touch with the OVERCOME Mind Healer?”

Draco looks away, staring intently at the teapot in front of them, blushing a little. “I meant to, but I haven’t figured out how to work the telephone yet.”

Hermione bites out a laugh and proceeds to show him once more. As he goes to make the call, Theo walks in, sporting an oversized tee shirt with the logo of the Slytherin Quidditch team and what seems to be black boxers. He doesn’t notice her as he grabs some muesli from the upper cupboards, giving Hermione an eyeful of the sculpted lines of his tawny back and—

Hermione clears her throat noisily. Theo lazily turns towards her, taking her flushed, indignant expression in. He smirks, brushing his hair back smoothly as he leans back on the kitchen counter. “Good morning,” he says, voice still mulled by sleep.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Hermione snaps, staring at her own cup of tea.

“Yeah,” Theo says, and she can hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Long night, you know.”

Hermione looks up, a bit scandalised—she’s supposed to be their overseer and advisor for Merlin’s sake!—and is about to lecture him when Blaise joins them, equally lightly dressed, and slips an arm around Theo’s waist before he makes a show of kissing his neck.

“Long indeed,” Blaise says and Hermione splutters into her tea.

“Please don’t scare Granger off, I need her for my applications,” Draco deadpans as he takes back his seat at the kitchen table.

“Glad to know I’m valued,” she grumbles half-heartedly, knowing Draco doesn’t mean it. Not that she’d ever think she’d want him to like her but spending the best part of two years teaching him how to be a better person and more understanding of Muggles and Muggle-borns had brought them together in a way she’d never expected.

After the Death Eaters Trials of the Summer of 1998, Draco had been sentenced to three years of house arrest with mandatory community service. His father hadn’t been so lucky: he had been convicted to fifteen years of low-security seclusion in Azkaban, which was a kindness given in exchange for his help in dismantling the remains of Voldemort’s organisation. Narcissa Malfoy had walked free, except for massive war reparations paid to the Ministry and her name listed on the Post-War Security Registry, which was basically a watch-list—a measure that Hermione greatly disapproved of.

In the meantime, since Hermione had been working with Kingsley on a program to redeem at-risk youths, she incorporated Draco into her plan and created OVERCOME. Other Slytherins and a few young people from other Houses joined—more or less voluntarily—but Draco Malfoy was the test case and Hermione’s personal project. If she could turn  _him_  out of all people into a decent person—a _Muggle lover_ as his former peers would have said—then her program would be a success. She managed to commute his sentence to two years for good behaviour, as long as he completed twelve months of immersion in the Muggle world. Minerva McGonagall supervised his community service at Hogwarts where he entirely rebuilt the Room of Requirement with the other OVERCOME participants, and Hermione picked him and a few others as her own group to oversee through the completion of the program. She decided to include Helen Dawlish—a Ravenclaw, the daughter of the once famous Auror John Dawlish who complied with the Death Eater’s agenda and was now in Azkaban for his crimes against Muggles and Muggle-born—and Draco’s most at-risk classmates from Slytherin.

Draco’s mother had left for France during the second year of Draco’s sentence, unable to watch her son grow apart from her beliefs and values. She still refuses to use the Muggle post, so Hermione brings her letters to Draco. At first, it had been hard for Draco, but Hermione had watched him grow into a quite decent and even likeable man. The other OVERCOME participants must have agreed, because the smug and lonely Draco Malfoy who had liked to bully everyone, friend or foe, started to make real friends for the first time.

“So,” Hermione says, “are you going to call the Mind Healer?”

Draco sighs, watching distractedly as Theo and Blaise make their way out of the room, giggling. “What about you? Did you call?”

“This isn’t about me,” Hermione says defensively.

Draco raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, let’s call it even. But you should call them. My failure doesn’t have to be yours, you know.”

“I just don’t feel like talking,” Draco says coldly. “I’m doing my best, all right? I’ll work in that Muggle coffee shop if they want me, I’ll use the weird coins, play the part and learn what I have to learn, and then I’m off to France to see my mother, far away from bloody England.”

Hermione frowns but doesn’t say anything. She knows Draco can get a bit gloomy from time to time. She likes him better when he’s excited and as obsessive as she is when she finds something new — she remembers fondly when she taught him about pounds and when he wanted to start a collection of odd coins. The whim passed as fast as it came, but she likes that about him. Even if she had to go with Draco to seven different antique shops. That’s what you do with friends, isn’t it?

###  **APRIL**

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

Hermione sighs and answers for the twenty-third time, “Yes, Harry, Teddy will love your gift.” Maybe by half past three, they’ll manage to ring that bloody doorbell and have some chocolate cake and sweets. Hermione’s parents would frown on that, but they’re not here, are they?

“Thanks,” he says with an awkward smile, and Hermione feels a wave of affection. “I just got to get it right this time, you know?” His face clouds. “I fucked up too many times. I don’t think Andromeda will let me—”

Hermione grabs Harry by the shoulders. “Harry, it will be  _fine_. You went through some heavy angst,” she says with a cheeky smile, “but you’re better now. You’re going to get it right, I know it.”

Harry goes limp and she pulls him close. “Thanks,” he says again, holding her tight. “What would I do without you ‘Mione?”

“Not much,” she jokes. “But you’d pull through, you always do.”

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Harry says with much more confidence.

Hermione nods. Thank Merlin, it’s only a quarter to three.

Andromeda lets them in with a wide smile and a big hug, and Hermione thinks Harry worries too much. That woman has more forgiveness in her than most. Teddy is sitting on the carpet in the middle of the living room with his magical barriers gleaming gently around him, moving with him. Nice trick, Hermione thinks, filing it in her mind for future use.

“Hi, Teddy,” Harry says, squatting next to him. “How are you today?”

“‘Fine,” Teddy says politely with his toothy and welcoming grin. He extends his arms towards Harry. “Up!”

Harry blushes and takes him into his arms after a quick look towards Andromeda who nods, and the barriers dissolve. Hermione knows Harry doesn’t notice, but it means that Andromeda marked Harry as a trusted person for Teddy. She shares a knowing look with the other woman and Summons a vase for the tulips they had brought with them. The last of the year, the florist had said. Hermione loves tulips, because they remind her of her childhood, when her mother would buy hundreds of them and fill the house with colours.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Hermione says, watching as Harry and Teddy play, already wrapped up in their own world.

“He has a lot of history to carry,” Andromeda muses, a hint of sadness in her voice. “And I won’t be there forever. I’m glad Harry found his footing again. Teddy is going to need him when I’m not around.”

Hermione looks at her closely, and she sees it. Her cheeks are a little hollow, her skin is too pale, and Hermione thinks there’s a Glamour on two of her fingernails. She’d need to cast a Diagnosis Spell — she’s not good at those but they’re quite handy even cast weakly — but Hermione is quite sure Andromeda is at the beginning stage of the Vanishing Sickness.

“It’s a slow process when you’re older,” she says.

“It doesn’t mean it’s easier,” Hermione answers.

Andromeda turns to face her and smiles sadly. “No, it doesn’t.”

Hermione looks at Teddy giggling in Harry’s arms. “Are you going to tell him?”

She sighs. “Eventually, yes. But he’s been through so much.” Andromeda puts her hand on Hermione’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “We all have.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Hermione says, uncomfortable at the idea of keeping yet another secret from her friend. She thinks of her parents who are not travelling around the world before coming home to her — she just never managed to reverse the Obliviate Charm and can’t bear to admit her failure and loneliness. She doesn’t want to see Harry lose what’s left of his family without so much of a warning. “Because I won’t,” she adds sternly.

Andromeda smiles, and the resemblance to Draco is striking. “I know.”

“Gran! Look! Look!” Teddy cries happily, showing off his wolf-shaped plush with pink fur.

Andromeda stares Harry down for giving his gift so early, but Hermione sees that she’s touched. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart, what are you going to call it?”

Teddy frowns, thinking carefully, then grins, wide and toothy. “Tonks! Like us!”

And when Hermione sees Andromeda and Harry share a knowing look, eyes gleaming with tears in a mixture of happiness and grief, she misses her family more than ever. She keeps an eye on them, more often than not. Sometimes it’s too hard, but she tries. They were unhappy to be childless, so she helped them have another kid. She doesn’t regret it: Astrid is a wonderful six-month-old. She still mourns them, of course, and it’s hard to see them live on without her. But though she used to think everything could be fixed with some work and determination, she now knows it’s not true.

Sometimes, you just have to let go.

###  **MAY**

“The OVERCOME program is not a Slytherin redemption boot camp, Parvati,” Hermione says with a tired sigh. A few members of Dumbledore’s Army had crowded her as soon as she had left the Minister’s side for a break. “And no, I will not disclose their names, Smith,” she adds when the bloody git opens his mouth. She knows them, works with some of them. Sometimes she values their worth, and sometimes she thinks they’re insignificant, and she doesn’t like to think like that of others, but when Zacharias Smith starts to spit out ridiculous things, she feels like she’s entitled to her little superiority complex. “OVERCOME is about bringing people together, not dividing them. The participants made great progress over the past two and a half years, and both the Ministry and I are confident that their reintroduction into wizarding society will go smoothly.” She is ambivalent about using the Minister to back up her words, but she now knows that being a woman is also about using every tool at your disposal, even if it stings afterwards.

“And what about your work at the CMC?” Cho Chang asks. She looks wonderful, six months pregnant and glowing, just like those stupid commercials about the benefits of pregnancy. Turns out mostly leaving the wizarding world and getting married to a Muggle man was the best thing to happen to Cho. Hermione remembers the wedding — though she was surprised to be invited — and that she thought Cho had grown from a weepy teenager to a full-blown woman who grinned all the time. She also remembers the intense wave of jealousy and the impulse to hex her hair into straw while she was walking down the aisle, as it was just a few weeks after her break-up with Ron. “Last I heard, you joined the Office for House Elf Relocation after your internship in the department.”

Hermione blushes readily, unused to getting attention for that part of her work. “Yes, we’ve been working on a ground-breaking law proposal that would give full citizenship to all elves, allowing them to get paid, have a Gringotts account, a house, get married to any citizen regardless of race,” she says seriously, “and maybe even hire a wizard to do their chores,” she adds with a smirk.

Cho laughs loudly. “Oh Hermione, how I’ve missed you!”

“Er, thank you,” Hermione says awkwardly before she’s pulled into a clumsy embrace, what with the robes, Cho’s pregnant belly, and, admittedly, Hermione’s gloriously bushy hair, and the fact that Hermione just dislikes Cho even if she tries not to. She never quite forgave her for bringing Marietta into the D.A.

Hermione is wondering how she’s going to flee when Ginny grabs her arms, throws a half-hearted apology to the group of parasites, and steals her away. “I’m going to kill Harry,” she says. “Voldemort didn’t manage it, but I will,” she adds, her brown eyes gleaming with the kind of insanity one can only find in a jealous eye.

“What happened?” Hermione says.

“ _Who_  happened, you mean!” Ginny pulls them towards a balcony and takes out a cigarette. Hermione wonders how long she’s going to last before she caves and tries one too. It’s become a trend in the wizarding world and Hermione is merely human. “It’s Teddy this, Teddy that, don’t you think he’s so cute, and do you think he’s going to get along with your niece when she’s born…” She sighs heavily, running a hand through her flowing red mane. “Honestly, ‘Mione. I’m bloody nineteen, I want to fly with my mates by day and go out and party with my boyfriend at night, not baby talk half the time!”

“I thought you weren’t labelling it,” Hermione says slyly.

Ginny grins. “Shut up, you witch.”

Hermione leans on the balcony, crossing her arms on the edge. “You’re in different places.”

Ginny joins her, facing the room filled with people. “He’s only twenty.”

Hermione gives her a gentle look. “You know how he is when it comes to family.”

“I don’t want to end my career early to raise my three children and two Crups. Fuck, I want to travel around the world, like I did that first summer with Nev and Luna. I want to win the Quidditch World Cup one day. I can’t be that girl  _and_  be with him, ‘Mione.”

Hermione takes her into her arms and pets her hair. “I know, love, I know.”

Ginny is about to cry when Ron bursts in, looking like a mess. “The baby’s coming!” he says excitedly. “We’re off to St Mungo’s with Bill and Fleur!”

“Bloody hell,” Ginny says, grinning too, though her eyes are still wet.

The two of them start to leave when Ron stops and looks at Hermione. “Are you coming?” he asks, and it’s more than an invitation. It’s acknowledgment.

Hermione feels her eyes water too. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says shakily.

###  **JUNE**

“Ginny, did you steal Draco’s gift?” Hermione yells from her the threshold of her room.

“I’m not responsible for your chaotic filing system,” Ginny answers, her head popping out of her own room.

“I’m not going into the Slytherin lair without a birthday gift. They’re changed, but not  _that_  changed.”

Ginny grins. “I thought the OVERCOME Initiative wasn’t a Slytherin training camp.”

“Shut up,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes amiably. “Millicent has become quite skilled with a tattoo pin,” she adds, going back into her room to rummage through her endless stack of bottomless drawers, “and I don’t want to end up with a butterfly on my shoulder when I wake up tomorrow.”

Ginny, who apparently was tired of all the yelling, comes into Hermione’s room and sits cross-legged on her bed. “You’re spending the night?”

Hermione sighs. “They insisted.”

Ginny grins even harder, showing off her perfect teeth. “They really grew on you, didn’t they?”

She sighs, and self-consciously sucks on her front teeth. Years and years of orthodontics, and only magic managed to fix those bloody incisors. “I’m taking my handler role to heart, that’s all,” Hermione says, not believing one word of it. Six months of popping in and out of Islington and Camden to check on  _her_  Slytherins — as she thinks of them affectionately — and she has learned to like them, and begrudgingly started to consider them friends. Weird friends, that’s for sure, but friends still. Pansy and Blaise, and their keen interest for Muggle technology, Gregory and his seemingly endless cake recipes, Millicent and her love for modelling and tattoo artists, Draco with his willingness and hard work, and of course, there’s Theo, Theo and his overall nerdiness, his quiet smiles, and pointed looks… Yes, Hermione likes them all a lot. Her only failure is Helen Dawlish, who managed to disappear into the Muggle world without even a note a few weeks back. Six out of seven isn’t bad, and though Hermione spent a week blaming herself until Pansy and Millicent, who were closest to Helen, knocked some sense into her, she has now made her peace with it. She’s here to help those who want to be helped. For the others… Well, she did her best, didn’t she?

“Hermione?”

Hermione shakes her head and smiles. “Sorry, what?”

“That was quite a pause.” Ginny looks at her with inquisitive eyes. “Oh, Merlin,” she cries, putting her hands on her mouth. “Did you hook up with one of them?”

Hermione blushes purple when Theo’s face comes to her mind, the eerie thought quickly chastened by the memory of Blaise sticking his tongue in Theo’s throat. “I did not! I’m their handler!”

Ginny laughs. “But you want to!”

Hermione’s hand finds a smooth texture inside one of the last drawers. “Ah-ha! Found it.” She jumps to her feet, grabs her bag, considers shoving the scarf in, and decides against it — there’s already too much stuff in it, including work documents, last night’s leftovers under a Cooling Charm, and the bloody washing machine she’s bringing to Camden for Pansy to break down in pieces. What’s her life come to, sometimes Hermione wonders. “I have to go,” Hermione says sternly.

“You’re such a tease,” Ginny answers, still sporting her wolfish smile. Hermione goes to grab her coat, but Ginny stops her. “You know, I really had my doubts about this,” she says, her face very serious. “But from what I’m hearing, they’re a cool bunch now. Parkinson and Malfoy still sound ridiculous and fussy, but it seems endearing now, instead of… you know, despicable.”

“What are you trying to say?” Hermione says, her throat a bit tight.

“I’m saying good job.”

Hermione chuckles and pulls Ginny into a hug, thanking the heavens for her brilliant, albeit drunken idea of moving in with this woman. “Thank you. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet,” Ginny says, winking and giving her a finger salute.

Hermione winks back and Apparates to Islington. She climbs the stairs and knocks on the door, which is filled with punk stickers, courtesy of Millicent. Pansy welcomes her in, wearing a terrible pink plastic dress, and leads her to the living room where the other OVERCOME participants are chatting over petits fours and macarons. A huge birthday cake is standing in the middle of the table, and from Gregory’s proud grin, he’s responsible for all of it.

“Hello,” Hermione says, feeling warm inside when she’s greeted with smiles and welcomes. It’s strange to think she belongs in so many places now, when she was used to not belonging anywhere. The birthday party goes well. Draco is filled with glee with every gift, to the point that Hermione wonders if they spiked the cake. Millicent puts an old vinyl of the 13th Floor Elevator, and soon she and Pansy start to sing along to  _You’re gonna miss me_. Draco and Blaise join them dancing, and eventually Theo pulls on Hermione’s hand until she caves and starts to dance as well. In that moment she feels free, free from the expectations of the world, free from her past and her failures. And when she catches Theo’s eyes while Blaise leaves a trail of kisses on his neck, she feels free and ready to start anew, if not right here and then.

Somewhere around three o’clock, the festivities quiet a little. Pansy and Millicent are chatting about some girl Millicent just met, Theo is off in the kitchen with Gregory, trying to convince him to make a vegetarian pizza from scratch instead of heating up the frozen one, but Blaise and Draco are nowhere in sight. Hermione frowns, instantly worried, and decides to go and knock on Draco’s bedroom door. When there’s no answer, she opens it slightly and freezes. On the bed, Draco is crying in Blaise’s arms while Blaise whispers in his ear as he pets his hair. She closes the door again and finds Theo looking at her strangely.

“What happened?” she asks.

Theo shrugs. “He’s been having those sort of cycles, you know? One moment he’s the heart of the party to the point of excess, the next he’s rolled up into a ball crying. He forgets to eat, or he doesn’t feel like eating at all. He’s always been like that, but the mood swings… They’ve accelerated recently.”

Hermione feels like the floor has been pulled out from beneath her. “What can we do?”

Theo runs a hand through his thick brown hair. He had it done in a flat mohawk, and it looks awfully good on him. “Nothing but what we’re already doing, Hermione. Support him, laugh with him, and hold him when he’s down. Someday he’ll be ready to get proper help, but you know more than most that people need to choose to get help.”

Hermione gives him a sad smile. “That, I do know.”

###  **JULY**

Hermione knocks on the Burrow’s crooked door, her armful of sunflowers threatening to swallow her whole.

“Hermione, dear!” Mrs Weasley cries when she sees the ball of hair and flowers that is Hermione. “So glad you could make it, sweetheart. Is that for my Ginny?” Hermione nods. “You’re a wonder. Come in, come in!” Mrs Weasley says, shooing her inside. She never quite managed to switch to Molly, even though she was asked to more times than Hermione is willing to count. She’d be Molly if Hermione had decided to become another Mrs Weasley, but she hasn’t, so Molly remains Mrs Weasley and Hermione won’t budge on it.

She puts the flowers on the dining room table, and Summons a beautiful light green vase from her bag, thinking it will do nicely on the Witching Shack’s kitchen table tonight when she and Ginny go home. Everyone is already there, except Ginny and Harry of course, because he’s always late. Hermione takes in the room, filled with red-headed people that could have been her family. George is sitting close to Angelina — and haven’t they gotten close recently? Hermione remembers seeing them dancing together in May before Fleur gave birth, but now Angelina has her hand on George’s thigh and, well. She looks smitten, really. Percy and Ron are chatting on the other side of the room, arguing about something ridiculous like they always do. The difference is, over the past two years, they have started to enjoy it. Fred’s death left a gaping hole in the family, and the two of them unexpectedly grew closer. Percy became more malleable, Ron less susceptible. Hermione stifles a laugh when she thinks that in the Muggle world, someone would have called them “best bros.” Oh, she wishes sixteen-year-old Ron could see this. He’d have kittens.

“Hermione, dear, won’t you sit? You must be tired with all the work you’ve been doing recently,” Mrs Weasley says, pushing her towards one comfy patchworked armchair. Hermione takes a deep breath and tells herself that Mrs Weasley’s not admonishing her for being a workaholic and a single woman. She’s just being fussy, and it’s lovely. Mr Weasley comes in and whispers something in Mrs Weasley’s ear that makes her giggle. Bill is nursing little Victoire, Fleur snuggled to his side on the sofa, laughing and cooing at her every smile. Yes, Hermione reflects with a sad smile, family is lovely.

“Hello!” Harry yells from the front door and makes a beeline towards Victoire after a brief stop to kiss Mrs Weasley’s cheek. “And aren’t you beautiful?” he says with glee, almost ripping her from Bill’s arms, earning a baleful look from Fleur. “Hi, guys,” he adds to everyone else, his cheeks red and a smile going up his ears, then goes back to coo at the baby. “You and Teddy are gonna be besties, aren’t you?”

Ginny sits heavily next to Hermione. “Honestly, I’m starting to accept that I’ll always lose to babies when it comes to Harry’s attention,” she grumbles, resting her chin on her hand.

“Stop sending him forlorn looks he doesn’t see and do something then,” Hermione says. It’s been months since Harry and Ginny started growing apart, and she believes they both deserve more. She’s not taking any Hippogriff shit today.

Ginny looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

Hermione smiles, feeling slightly guilty. “Yes, don’t worry. I brought you flowers,” she adds, pointing towards the bouquet. “Congratulations for making first reserve Chaser, Gin.”

Ginny beams and takes Hermione into her arms. “You know it means the most from you, right?” She pulls away. “You’ve been an amazing support these past few months, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Hermione blushes and looks away, feeling both pleased and awkward. They did train every weekend when Hermione didn’t have to go to Muggle London, but she believes Ginny did it all by herself.

“Lunch is up in five,” Mrs Weasley yells from the kitchen, and Hermione smiles, cherishing the comfortable mood of the Burrow. Everyone sits at the table, and once Mrs Weasley joins them, food appears. Hermione takes a bite of eggplant, thinking she needs to get that spell for herself, yet knowing she will never dare to ask and will have to research instead — which she doesn’t mind that much anyway.

The meal is punctuated by funny updates on everyone’s lives. Bill wants to get a trainee to help him out, Fleur is writing a lifestyle book for French women living in wizarding Britain, Percy hopes to be promoted soon to Head of the Magical Transportation Department, Ginny is being cheeky with the Holy Harpies shenanigans behind the scenes, Mrs Weasley is all about de-gnoming her garden, Mr Weasley has a newly found interest in computers, George is doing well with Wheezes, Harry talks about Teddy’s latest accomplishment—which makes Ginny roll her eyes—and Ron is upset about Cormac McLaggen who is driving him crazy with paperwork since he became the Auror Liaison for the Wizengamot Administration Services. Hermione eats in silence, letting herself be swallowed in the noise and chatter.

Among this family that could have been hers but isn’t and will never be, Hermione feels completely out of place. Looking at them being all friendly and loving, it only reminds her of what she’s missing. She tries not to think about it, but the weight of it is too strong. She should be having fun, enjoy this moment, but the only thing she thinks about is what she can never have again.

Her own family.

###  **AUGUST**

“Hermione, I truly want to congratulate you on your Wrackspurts. They’re flourishing,” Luna says and takes off her Spectrespecs before she hops on the kitchen counter of the Witching Shack.

Hermione frowns and stops putting leaves into the teapot. “Aren’t Wrackspurts supposed to be bad?”

“Obviously. But you have so many, I thought you were breeding them on purpose.”

Hermione hears Ginny and Neville laugh in the living room and sighs. She has learned to like Luna, but she has also come to terms with the fact that the two of them will never understand each other. “Well, I’m not, but I might consider it now that I know I’m so good at breeding them.”

“That’s an interesting idea. Remember to call me when you start looking for buyers, I’ll do a piece on you for T _he Quibbler_ ,” Luna says cheerfully. Her flowing dirty-blond hair is knotted into a neat braid, and after months of roaming the wild in the United States, her skin is tanner than it used to be. She and Neville have spent the past two years exploring North America while running the Flora and Fauna column of _The Quibbler_.

“Merlin, I missed you guys,” Ginny says. She drops onto a chair in the kitchen, followed by Neville, Levitating a mug towards her as Hermione finishes the tea. “Neville was telling me about your time in the Native American reserve,” Ginny continues. “It must have been amazing, learning about plant magic and all.”

Luna shrugs. “It was.”

Neville smiles and kisses her cheek. “Luna only agreed to come back if we would go see Newton Scamander in Dorset while we are back in England.”

Luna strokes Neville’s cheek, sending him a loving smile. “You know I only like the flora of the world when you’re the one talking about it.”

“Please don’t name your kid Flora,” Ginny says urgently. “I’ll always see that bloody Carrow twin with that name.”

“Well, I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you’re saying it…” Neville starts.

“…It’s a wonderful name!” Luna finishes.

Neville turns to beam at her. “Exactly!”

Hermione and Ginny share a meaningful look.

“I wish I could go back with you guys sometimes,” Ginny says. “Those three months after graduation were among the best of my life.”

“Ah, the summer of 1999,” Neville says proudly.

“We should go back to wizarding Europe sometime,” Luna adds. “Maybe another road-trip. Would you come with us, Ginny?”

Ginny smiles. “Sorry Lu, you know I would love to, but if I bailed to become third reserve for the Harpies, I’m not going to waste my chance to become a fully-fledged player now that I’m first reserve Chaser.”

“I miss you, though,” Luna says, her eyes looking sad, and drops off the counter.

“I miss you too,” Ginny says and rises to meet her halfway.

“Aren’t they lovely?” Neville whispers to Hermione as they watch the two friends embrace.

Hermione smiles. “They are.” She feels a little pang of jealousy, but mostly, she’s happy for her friend. Ever since Neville and Luna moved to the States, Ginny only sees them once a month or less.

“And where’s Harry? I would think he’d be here all the time, what with his girlfriend living here,” Neville says cheekily. Hermione is glad to see him so confident. She doesn’t mourn the scared and insecure boy she once knew, and Neville has proven his worth to her many times, especially during their eighth year. They grew quite close then, working late nights over books and papers.

“Not all boyfriends are as caring as you, dear,” Ginny jokes and earns a light tap on her arm from Luna. “And to be honest, Harry hasn’t even noticed that I’ve just broke up with him. So… I guess someone gotta get his head out of his arse for him, because he’s not doing it himself.”

“Did he stop seeing his therapist?” Luna asks.

Neville turns towards Hermione, but she looks away. PTSD was one of the less agreeable things that had brought them closer, and she doesn’t dare say she stopped seeing her own therapist. The finality of the loss of her parents was too much to bear, she didn’t want to talk anymore, she just wanted to find new ways to live on.

“I think he might have after reconnecting with Andromeda and Teddy,” Hermione says.

Ginny snorts. “Of course, because Teddy poops out magic and rainbows!”

“Does he?” Luna wonders. “Fascinating.”

“Oh Luna, I really did miss you,” Ginny says and they all dissolve into laughter.

###  **SEPTEMBER**

Hermione opens a wary eye when her wand vibrates next to her. Six o’clock in the morning. She closes her eyes. September the 19th, 2000. She is now twenty-one. She pulls the covers back over her head. This morning, like the past two years before, her mother isn’t going to call her and wish her a happy birthday, her father isn’t going to buy her favourite pie, and she’s not going to have an almost one-year old sister to hold in her arms and blow the candles with. Hermione grabs a pillow and puts it on her head on top of the covers. She’s had enough.

She’s quitting this day.

Somewhere around nine, Hermione decides she’s hungry. On the kitchen table, there’s a note from Ginny:  _Gone to training. Happy birthday to you, ‘Mione. — Your best witch._  On her Muggle mobile, there are two unread messages. Hermione doesn’t read them and turns it off. She goes to the Floo and closes it. No one but Ginny can come in now, as she’s the only one besides herself who has a set of Muggle keys for the Witching Shack, and Hermione insisted on Anti-Apparition spells when she moved in.

“Alone, at last,” she says out loud, and laughs at the irony of it.

Hermione leaves the kitchen, a mug of tea stirring itself following her. She angrily closes all the curtains with a swish of her wand and sets herself in the living in her favourite armchair. She Summons the most depressing romance book she owns and starts to read, eager to cry and feel pain.

At eleven, just when she feels like the day is going to go smoothly with the perfect healthy dose of self-loathing and misery, the front door is blown open.

“HERMIONE GRANGER,” a voice she knows too well screams. Mrs Weasley marches into the living, staring her down, and though Hermione is loath to admit it, she recoils in her armchair a little. “Did you really think I would let you spend your birthday alone?” she says, a compassionate smile on her lips, but a distinct frown on her brow. “Silly girl,” she says, Summoning a comfy chair. “What were you thinking, closing off like that?”

“I just want to be alone,” Hermione says, and even she doesn’t believe it.

“Sweetheart,” Mrs Weasley says, her features smoothing in understanding. “I know it’s not the same, but you will always have family waiting for you at the Burrow. Please never forget that.”

Hermione feels her eyes water. She should have known her friends would have figured it out. It wasn’t a well-kept secret, if she’s honest. She rubs her nose and looks away. “Thank you,” she says. “Molly,” Hermione adds with a little smile.

Molly grins widely at her. “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, come. We have something ready for you at the Burrow,” she says and pulls Hermione on her feet. “Which you would know if you hadn’t closed off your Floo!” she chides.

“Let’s go, then,” she says, and it’s the closest thing to ‘sorry’ she’s giving her.

Molly Side-Alongs her to the Burrow, and there the whole family is waiting for her. A huge colourful banderol floats in front of the house, and George launches little fireworks that say “Happy birthday to our sister from another mother.” Bill and Fleur are smiling at her, and soon she has an armful of Ron, Harry, and Ginny — who apparently took the day off. Even Percy and Charlie are here, standing in the corner with a big smile.

Hermione feels her heart swell in her chest and, in that moment, she understands how stupid she was to think that she didn’t belong there.

Soon, they are sitting at the table, laughing and chatting about everything happening in their lives, like they always do, and Hermione feels at home this time. Angelina and George just started dating, Percy broke up with Penelope because she couldn’t handle his family, and Ron tells him she wasn’t worth it. Percy looks at his mother, then at Hermione, and says that he will never choose anyone over his family again. “Let the past be,” Arthur says.

And that’s advice Hermione isn’t going to forget any soon.

###  **OCTOBER**

“Let’s begin, then”, Hermione says, tapping her pen with her wand. She watches it ready itself for taking notes with great satisfaction. Merlin, does she love being a witch. She stretches like a big cat on her favourite chair in the Islington house’s living room, even letting a smug smile show on her lips.

“Show off,” Theo whispers in her ear when he strolls past her to reach his seat next to Blaise’s on the sofa.

Hermione ignores the slow heat growing in her chest and resumes looking stern and official. “As of today, you have been immersed in the Muggle world for ten whole months. The Ministry takes an interest in your activities and requires you to check in with your supervisor to decide whether you are free to come back to the wizarding world as a redeemed member of society, or if you should take another year within the OVERCOME initiative.” She sighs when she sees the grey faces around her. “Now that it’s been said, tell me all about you. The pen will work it out on its own, just… tell me like I’m your friend, okay?”

Pansy raises her eyebrows, looking outraged. Millicent places her large paw on her arm, calming her instantly. “I’ll start,” she says and pushes back the remaining half of her hair behind her shoulder, the other half having been shaved off in an intriguing pattern. Hermione reflects that she is probably the one who changed the most, at least physically, out of all of them. Besides her hair, Millicent now has both her arms fully tattooed with flowers and fancy animals in both coloured and black ink. She pierced her ears, nose, right eyebrow, and bottom lip, and wears deep brown lipstick and eyeliner, which suits her light beige complexion perfectly. “I’m moving in with Polly in Soho when OVERCOME is done,” she says, and Pansy gasps. Hermione merely raises an eyebrow—she’s been hearing all about Polly, a Squib tattoo artist, for three months now. Apparently, there’s an underground punk wizarding community in Muggle London and Millicent is a growing icon there. “I’ve also started to model for a few Muggle brands, and I’ve received offers from wizarding ones as well.”

“I’m very happy for you, Millicent,” Hermione says, her eyes feeling itchy. They must have forgotten to dust off the room. “I think that’s a great plan, I’ll support you in front of the Committee of course.” She turns to look at them all, sending them a proud smile. “And it goes for all of you. You deserve it.”

“It’s too early to cry, Hermione,” Gregory says, and Hermione laughs. “I’ll go then. I’m still working at Borough Bakers, and I made friends with the bloke running it. He’s teaching me about Muggle Quidditch, it’s called football and people run towards a ball instead of throwing it. It doesn’t make sense at all, but it’s fun and I like it.” Hermione nods, encouraging him to continue. Gregory is the quietest of the lot, and she’s happy he found a friend. “For now, I’d like to stay in the Muggle world. Millicent said she’d keep an eye on me. I’m…” He scratches his head, looking down at his feet. “I don’t think I’m ready to go back just yet. But when I do, I want to open a shop. I loved to play in the streets of Carkitt Market with Vince when we were kids. I’d love to have a bakery there”.

“That’s lovely, Gregory,” Hermione says with a genuine smile, grabbing a cup of tea on the table. “And what’s the name of your friend?”

Gregory beams at her. “Dudley,” he says. “Dudley Dursley.”

It takes everything Hermione has to not spill her tea and remain calm and impassive. She desperately wants to say something to  _anyone_ , but she can’t, and she already knows it’s going to drive her mad. She clears her throat and smiles, albeit a bit stiffly. “What about you, Pansy?”

“Actually, Blaise and I have the same plan. We want to go to Muggle university.”

Hermione freezes. “What?”

“I told you she’d lose it,” Blaise says smugly. “Give me a fiver.”

Pansy pays up with a sigh. “Anyway, I’m taking computer science, he’s taking commercial studies, and we’re both taking technology courses.”

“And then, we’re going to Charm school.” His grin is so wide it almost reaches his ears. “We’re bringing Muggle technology to the Wizarding world!”

Hermione just stares at them, gobsmacked. They are completely exceeding her expectations and she doesn’t know what to do about it. “It’s…” She snorts. “It’s a fucking great idea.”

“We know,” Blaise says, wiggling his eyebrows. He fist-bumps with Pansy.

“I’m extremely impressed with all of you.”

“Wait to hear what Theo has to say,” Draco says. He’s been quiet throughout the conversation, keeping to himself. Blaise told her he was getting better, but she has her doubts. But she can’t help him if he doesn’t ask for help.

“Well?” Hermione says, looking intently at Theo.

“I want to work with you.”

Hermione blinks. “What?”

“Out of all of us, Draco, Greg, and I were the most in trouble. Joining OVERCOME, even if it wasn’t our decision… I think it saved us. It changed us, at least. I’m prouder of who I am now than I ever was. I think we could do good work and perhaps avoid the need altogether for OVERCOME in the future. What if… what if we worked with younger kids, both Muggle-born and Pure-bloods? I don’t know, but I want to find out,” Theo says, his voice filled with emotion. “With you,” he adds, and Hermione’s heart tightens almost painfully.

“I’m… I’m awfully touched, Theo,” she says. “I’ll discuss this with Minister Shacklebolt.” Hermione takes a sip of her tea and turns towards Draco. “What about you? Did you decide what you want to do after OVERCOME?”

Draco sighs. “Yes. I’m leaving England.”

“You’re  _what_?” Pansy says, outraged.

Blaise snorts. “Are you kidding?”

“You can’t do that,” Greg says, alarmed.

“Let the bloody bloke speak, for fuck’s sake,” Theo groans.

“Yes,” Hermione says, casting a sobering look on the lot of them. “Let the bloody bloke speak. Are you leaving for France?”

“I’m going to become a Healer. Of course, I won’t be hired in St Mungo’s, so I decided to fuck off as far as possible. I’m going to the Amazonian rainforest. There’s someone there, someone who’s willing to teach me. It won’t be traditional Healing, sure, but it will be interesting. I’ll work with people and animals, both magical and Muggle. I liked working at the pet store and the coffee shop this year. Maybe I’ll grow to like people too.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione asks, wanting to make sure this was a good path for her friend.

Draco sighs again. “Look, I’ve done bad things. More than most of us here. It’s easy to take a three-year redeeming crash course or something, it’s harder to pay for my sins. I can never make up for what I did, but if I can do some good, I think I should. Don’t you agree?”

Hermione smiles, feeling prouder than ever. “I do agree,” she says as the pen makes a final note on the success of the OVERCOME initiative.

###  **NOVEMBER**

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Harry says, fumbling with his tie.

“Please don’t make me cheer you up, today of all days,” Hermione grumbles, quickly coming to the tie’s rescue.

Harry sighs. “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you.”

Hermione smoothes the tie and nods to congratulate herself for a job well-done. “This isn’t difficult, Harry,” she says, combing his hair with her fingers. “It’s painful, yes, but more because I can’t stand her than for any remaining feelings for Ron on my part. Understood?”

“I don’t buy it,” he says. “I’ll soon be a Junior Auror, you can’t play me so easily, you sneaky hoodlum!”

“Really, Harry?  _Hoodlum_?” Hermione says, half-laughing and half-scowling.

“Hoodlum, hoodlum, hoodlum,” Harry repeats with a stern voice.

“You’re ridiculous, and I love you,” she says, grinning, before she kisses his forehead. “Now you look nice. And thank you for cheering  _me_  up,” she adds and winks.

Harry taps his finger against his temple. “Knew it,” he fake whispers. “Let’s meet the Erumpent then.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasps.

“It’s not my fault, she snores like one!”

Hermione giggles. “You’re awful.”

“That’s why you like me, don’t you?” He bumps her with his elbow. “My charming personality.”

“Yes, that and your outstanding humility.”

They laugh, and Harry pulls Hermione into a hug. After a while, Harry sighs into Hermione’s hair. “I don’t think I’m ready to date,” he whispers.

Hermione strokes his cheek with her nose, holding him tighter. “I don’t think I am either.”

Harry pulls away slightly. “At least we have each other, and half of Ron.”

Hermione smiles, raising an eyebrow. “The Golden Trio, right?”

Harry bursts out laughing. “Merlin, that Skeeter is a menace.”

“At least she got that one almost right. We’re our own kind of family.”

Harry squeezes Hermione’s shoulder. “Even more than that.”

She smiles softly. “Yes. Even more than that.”

The door opens, letting in Ron in his best suit. “Are you two coming? Lisa’s waiting, she sent a Patronus,” he says, beaming, and Hermione is torn between happiness for her friend and self-pity for, well, herself.

“Coming, Ron.”

“That’s what she said,” Ron taunts, giggling, before he closes the door to the Floo room.

Hermione sighs. “Why would you teach him that thing?”

Harry shrugs. “It was funny at the time. We all make bad judgement calls sometimes.”

Hermione thinks of her old living room and her face fading away from her family pictures. “Yes, we do.”

Harry gives her a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“Let’s go, the longer we postpone, the harder it will get.”

They both leave the room and Floo to the restaurant they had booked. Harry and Hermione do their best to ignore the stares — even after a couple of years, it’s still extremely annoying and intrusive. Hermione thinks she’ll never get used to it. The restaurant is a lovely place, Indian — Harry and Ron’s favourite — and Lisa looks like a bloody pink meringue in the middle of it, what with her dress even Pansy wouldn’t wear. Harry and Hermione greet her politely and they all go to sit at their table. They order, and Lisa makes enjoyable conversation even if she’s a bit dull. Hermione doesn’t understand what Ron sees in her, but maybe it’s the fact that she’s not the kind of girl who will give him headaches and hex him if he spills pumpkin juice on her books. Well, Hermione isn’t so sure about that last one, Lisa is a Ravenclaw after all, and everybody knows that Ravenclaws do love their books.

When the waiter brings their dishes, Harry leans towards Hermione. “I wonder if she chews like an Erumpent too,” he whispers.

Hermione laughs again. “Will you just shut up?”

Harry grins. “No promises.”

And just like that, Hermione feels like she’s going to be okay. Maybe it’s even time to call her therapist and be okay for real.

###  **DECEMBER**

“Do you think Bill will like it?” Ginny asks, pointing at a ridiculous red and gold onesie.

“I think Fleur will hate it, which is probably why you’re going to buy it,” Hermione says, with a snide smile.

“You know me so well,” Ginny says while taking out a few coins from her purse.

Hermione rolls her eyes and is about to chide her when her Muggle mobile rings. “Hello?”

“Hermione? It’s Blaise. We lost Draco in the Christmas Market. His phone is dead, we can’t find him.”

“Where are you now?” Hermione says quickly.

“Islington.”

“I’ll be here in five. Don’t move,” she adds in her most serious voice and hangs up.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asks, her bag hanging off her arm.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. OVERCOME emergency.” Hermione doesn’t know if she’s more upset about Draco disappearing or about the lot of them getting into trouble  _again_.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Ginny, you don’t have to—”

Ginny scowls. “I’m coming with you.”

Hermione runs a hand through her thick braids and sighs. “Fine. Let’s go around the corner and hope no Auror sees us Apparate outside of an Apparition point.”

Ginny casts a quick  _Reducio_  on her bag and shoves it in her jeans pocket. “Once a rule-breaker, always a rule-breaker,” Ginny says, grinning. Hermione smiles and Side-Alongs her to Islington.

“SURPRISE!”

“What the—”

“Holy fuck, she brought the She-Weasel,” Draco says, his face even paler than usual.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “It’s Ginny to you, arsehole.”

Hermione looks around, still dazed. There are many cakes and biscuits on the table, a few bottles of beer, and a huge banderol saying,  _‘Thank you for enduring us.’_  She wants to scream at them, and also cry a little. “What were you thinking?!” She yells in an angry voice, even though she’s smiling, and her eyes are watering. “You don’t call for emergencies if there isn’t an emergency!”

“I told you she’d freak out,” Pansy says, cashing in Blaise’s fiver.

“Is that Millicent Bulstrode?” Ginny says wide-eyed.

“It’s Mils to you, gorgeous,” Millicent says, sending her a winning smile that makes Ginny blush, and isn’t that an interesting development, Hermione thinks between two quick plans to kill the Slytherins without getting caught.

“Everything seems to be fine here,” Ginny says after clearing her throat. “Do you need me, or should I go back to the Witching Shack?”

“The Wichinchak?” Draco asks, frowning.

Pansy snorts. “No, Draco. The Witchintchak.”

“I’m sure it was the Witching Shag,” Blaise says.

Pansy grins. “Fancy a wager?”

“It’s Witching Shack, and you two—stop betting money!” Hermione cries. She turns towards Ginny who is positively beaming.

“Brilliant,” she whispers. “This—This is why we named it that way.”

“Come on,  _Granger_ , just stay and enjoy yourself for once,” Theo says, looking handsome as always.

Hermione sighs. “Let’s have a party then.”


	2. Of Glass Houses and Thrown Stones (2005)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an Auror is almost everything Ron dreamed it would be until a case forces him to consider that life isn’t always black and white and turns his life upside down.

#  **OF GLASS HOUSES AND THROWN STONES**

* * *

###  **JANUARY**

“Here’s your new case,” says Hortense, the Head Auror’s Undersecretary. “No swapping, Auror Weasley,” she adds before Ron can say anything. Honestly, he hasn’t even read the bloody file, who does she think he is?

“Thank you, Hortense,” he sighs.

“Undersecretary Hortense.” She looks down at him expectantly. How is she so tall? Ron is one of the tallest blokes he knows, and that bird is easily six feet one!

“Thank you, Undersecretary Hortense,” he grumbles, trying to ignore Harry hiding his giggles behind an old case file. Once she closes the door, he turns back to Harry and throws the closest thing in his reach—a bobblehead of the Muggle Queen—to his face. “Stop swapping cases on my behalf, you twat! Everyone comes to me like I’m a bloody smuggler.”

Harry leans down to pick up the Queen of England and grins smugly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ron sighs and falls into the chair across Harry’s side of the desk. “To think I call you my best friend.”

“Hey, don’t prank if you don’t want to be pranked, mate. I told you I’d get you back for jinxing my hair yellow for three weeks.”

“There’s a thing called proportion, you know?”

“Is there now?”

Ron laughs. “You really are a twat. Let’s take a look at this call, shall we?” Ron Duplicates the file and gives the copy to Harry while he pursues his own. “Patrick Foddock, 67, half-blood—”

“They really should stop mentioning that in the profiles,” Harry says, running a hand over his face in exasperation.

“You know they can’t, it might be of importance to the case.”

Harry leans on his chair and breathes deeply. “I know, it’s just… Sometimes I feel like what we do here is not what we worked for.”

Ron sighs. “Wait ‘till you hear this, you’re going to have Kneazles. Patrick Foddock was a member of the Wizengamot.”

“Patrick Foddock…” Harry scratches his temple. “The name rings a bell.”

Ron pinches his nose. “It’s that bloke Hermione hates.”

“Wait… The one who went easy on rapists? The You-Had-A-Wand bloke?”

Ron nods. “Fourteen witches and five wizards whose cases he dismissed, according to this file.”

“Good riddance,” Harry mutters.

“We still have to solve his murder,” Ron says unhelpfully.

Harry groans loudly and lets his head bang on the desk. “I hate our job.”

“Says the future Head Auror,” Ron says with a smile.

Harry opens an eye. “You know I think you’re more deserving of it than I am.”

Ron shakes his head. “Let it go, mate. Neither of us can do a thing about it. I stopped being mad a while ago.” Ron feels a little guilty lying through his teeth like that, but he doesn’t want to make Harry feel self-conscious about his name and fame. Sure, Ron will never be Head Auror or Head of the Department of Law and Magical Enforcement because officials have already decided it would be Harry, but at least he gets a shot at being an amazing Auror, and that should be enough. It has to. “Come on, let’s head out and brainstorm tomorrow. It’s already six and a half, there’s nothing we can do for now.”

Harry perks up. “I’ll send a Patronus to Daphne and Terence.”

“Do you think this time one of them will ask the other out?” Ron says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry laughs. “Still betting on next year, mate!”

They grab their coats and satchels while Harry’s stag runs across the office to find their friends. “Do you want to go to the Leaky?”

Harry shakes his head and pushes the button of the Ministry’s lift. “There’s a new pub in Carkitt. Less people there than on Diagon.”

“What’s the name of the pub?” Daphne says, coming from behind as she and Terence join them. She looks nice and preppy with her long wavy blond hair and her blue eyes behind her neat glasses. If Ron wasn’t convinced she was head over heels for Terence, he may have tried to flirt with her once or twice. She’s not nearly nerdy enough for Ron’s taste anyway—though he likes the glasses a lot. That’s one thing Hermione didn’t have.

Harry yawns, playing with his wand. “The Nifty Niffler.”

“Sold,” Terrence says, flashing his big soft smile. Ron could swear he saw Daphne stop breathing for a second there.

They end up taking the stairs after yet another lift failure and chat eagerly on their way to Carkitt Market. Ron likes it there. It’s not as busy as Diagon Alley, and there’s been a trendy feel to it ever since new shops started to pop up. Some of the shops went out of business, like Bowman E. Wright Blacksmith — because who needs a blacksmith nowadays? — and House-Elf Placement Agency, and others evolved. Globus Mundi Travel Agents started to offer more Muggle destinations, and the Museum of Muggle Curiosities, which had been almost torn down to pieces, is now headquarters to the OVERCOME initiative and its new programs.

The Nifty Niffler stands proudly between Stowe & Parker Magical Bags, and Concordia Plunkett Musical Instruments; across from Cogg and Bell Clockmakers and the Apothecary; only three minutes away from the Hopping Pot, Gringotts Money Exchange, the Owl Post Office, and the Carkitt Market Apparition Point. The pub is a cosy place, quiet and warm, ideal for people who want to enjoy a night out without all the fuss. The bartender, a woman with a scar on her face and a gentle smile, greets them politely when they enter without saying a word about Harry’s and Ron’s identities.

Ron instantly decides this is his new favourite pub.

When ten o’clock rings, Ron discreetly goes to the counter to send an owl and comes back with drinks for everyone. Half an hour later, he excuses himself and goes to wait in front of the pub. Soon enough, Cormac appears, wearing a tight leather jacket over a red cable-knit sweater. His wiry blond hair has grown long enough to be pulled into a loose bun in the back, and Ron feels his stomach flip at the sight. From shame, want, or both, he doesn’t know.

After the war, he and Harry had grown closer than ever, obsessed with their Auror training and doing anything to avoid thinking about what they had gone through. The grief from losing Fred, Remus, and all the others, breaking up with Hermione, the horde of journalists... It had all been too much to handle. They’d spent as much time as they could together, working and trying to forget. Eventually, once they were done with Auror training and both single, they’d lived a few months of glamorous adventures, haphazard love affairs and drunken shenanigans with their friends (which is why Ron doesn’t remember how he got himself into Cormac’s bed), with some healthy godparenting on the side for Harry and a lot of sibling meddling for Ron — grieving and bonding with Percy out of all people. Now that he got his life back on track, somehow Cormac stuck, and Ron wonders how he managed to bear with him for so long.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Cormac says with a ridiculous over-the-top wink.

“McLaggen,” Ron answers, looking away.

Cormac moves into Ron’s space, smiling. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Ron sighs. “I owled you. I don’t want to play games tonight, all right?”

He pouts. “Fine. Your place or mine?”

Ron looks at his feet. “Yours.”

“Of course,” Cormac says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why I bother to ask.”

“Can we just—” Ron takes a deep, calming breath. “Can we just go and have a nice time?”

“Sure. Let’s.” Ron shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking when Cormac stops him. “Didn’t you forget something?”

“Merlin’s saggy balls…” Ron looks around warily. “Fine. Come here,” he says and kisses Cormac. The kiss turns heated when Cormac paws at him greedily, and Ron pulls away.

“Why, Weasley, is that your wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Ron sighs heavily and Apparates them both to Cormac’s flat.

###  **FEBRUARY**

“Congratulations on making it to a Chaser position!”

Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron clink their glasses together. Ron is so proud of his sister—even if he’d rather she had joined the Chudley Cannons so he wouldn’t have to disavow his all-time favourite team—but now that she’s a full-fledged Chaser, he has to support her even against the Cannons.

They eat cheese and grapes with red wine because they’re at the Witching Shack and the girls like to be posh. Ron would have rather had crisps and guacamole, but he lost at the Muggle version of Stone, Cloak, Wand and couldn’t get a rematch. Ginny spends half an hour talking about how the Harpies are going to crush everyone this year at the British and Irish Quidditch League, and Ron resolves to nod encouragingly as he thinks of Puddlemere and the Cannons forlornly. After another half hour spent making fun of Ron’s intempestive encounter with a Yellow Fever Potion that made him scared of everything for twenty-four hours (they all remember fondly Ron begging Crookshanks not to eat him), the conversation turns to Hermione’s work.

“OVERCOME 2 is doing great,” Hermione says with a bright smile. “We tested it on Ginny before launch and she loved it, so we started reaching out to pure-blood and half-blood families to teach them and their kids about the Muggle world.”

“And the new program?” Harry asks, chewing on a tiny bit of cheese, so small and odourless it can barely call itself cheese.

“The Wizarding Organisation for Knowledge and Education is my favourite. Muggle-borns and their families are absolutely loving it. And we’ve even had some people coming from wizarding families who signed up to help with the program!”

“I thought you were still working at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Ron says, confused.

“I am,” Hermione says with a smug grin, and how she manages to juggle two jobs, her life, and her friends, Ron will never know. “The Board for the Regulation of Interspecies Diplomatic Guidelines and Exchange has been more… complicated to set up, to say the least. It was a clever idea to start at Hogwarts with a Selkie, an Elf, a Goblin — you know, the new Wizarding Economics teacher — a Centaur, and Sir Nicholas as a representative of the Ghost population, because it gave credit and magnitude to the program. But now that I want to make BRIDGE a full Wizarding and Magical Creatures Council, I’m facing serious opposition. Luckily, I’ve just been made Head of the Being Division, so I’ll have more leeway to put this together.”

“Congratulations, ‘Mione,” Harry says excitedly while Ginny Summons a bottle of champagne from their kitchen. Turns out being a Quidditch player pays well.

“There’s something else I haven’t told you,” Hermione says more grimly. “I saw my parents’ name on the WOKE registration list. Astrid, my younger sister, is showcasing magical abilities at barely six years old, and she’s been selected by the Committee to join in early with WOKE Children, a sub-program we’re trying. I just— Should I tell them? They know about magic now. Again. Maybe I could…”

“I think you should take the time to think it through,” Ron says diplomatically.

“Have you told your therapist?” Harry asks.

“You should totally do it,” Ginny says.

Hermione laughs. It’s small and a bit screechy from worry, but it’s a laugh still. “I’ll ask Theo about it. He has his word to say about it.”

“I don’t see what Nott has to do with this,” Ron grumbles. Hermione darts a dark eye on him and Ron slightly recoils. “I mean, you broke up a year ago.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. I meant as my work partner, Ron. There might be a conflict of interest if we invite Astrid to join WOKE whether or not I tell them that I’m their lost daughter.”

“Sorry,” Ron says, leaning deeper in his armchair, feeling properly chastised. He had never liked Nott at school, and he liked him even less ever since he dated his ex-girlfriend for three years. He and Hermione had been unstoppable, and from what he heard, it had been three years filled with work and intempestive bouts of sex wherever they pleased. Ron wishes he never knew that.

“What is that?” Ron asks to change the subject, pointing at a rectangular orange and black thing on the coffee table.

Hermione smiles, successfully distracted. “It’s the new iPumpkin, the first magical computer. You can even go on our version of the Muggle Internet, the Wizarding Network — they call it Wiznet. Blaise and Pansy have been doing amazing work. Their company, Busy Pumpkin, has truly kept its promises. They hired engineers both from Muggle and wizarding families and the whole company is all about diversity. Honestly, it’s the best publicity we could hope for OVERCOME 2 and the other Bonding programs.”

Ron can’t believe his luck, she’s doing all the work for him and soon enough she’ll forget about his little blunder. “Bonding?”

“Yes,” Hermione says, now fully grinning. “We’re trying out a new name to encompass all of our programs, past and future. Bonding sounded nice and purposeful.”

“That’s clever,” Ron says, and judging by Ginny’s doubtful look, he’s not fooling anyone. Well, what if he regrets breaking up with Hermione all those years ago? What if nobody managed to fill her shoes? You don’t move on from Hermione Granger easily. Ron decides he’s going to owl Cormac again tonight, since he can’t do anything about Hermione right now. Well, he could introduce him, just to see Hermione’s face.

Nah, Ron thinks, laughing internally. He’s never exposing his dirty Cormac secret.

###  **MARCH**

“Why didn’t you invite me to your birthday?”

Ron sighs, shoving the sheets off him. “Because I didn’t want you there,” he answers unkindly. He is tired of having the same argument before, during, and after sex with Cormac. “We didn’t even get to celebrate anyway. Harry was in the hospital.”

“Do you even like me?” Cormac asks. Ron turns to him, feeling the seriousness of the question hanging in the air between them. He knows he can’t wriggle out of this with a joke or a blow job. “Do you?”

“Look, I’m not even sure I’m really into guys,” Ron says, pulling up his trousers.

“He says after licking chocolate off my nipples.”

Ron sighs. He did do that. And it’s not just Cormac. He still remembers Viktor fondly, and even if he tries to forget it, there was that one-off with Zacharias Smith after an excruciating anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron was nostalgic, and Smith was there, and no one had to know. Like no one has to know about Cormac.

“Cormac, we’ve been clear about this from the beginning. This isn’t serious. I’m just looking for fun, and if you’re not interested in that, you should tell me.”

“Maybe I thought that a few years of ‘fun’ with someone like  _me_  would mean more to someone like  _you_ ,” Cormac spits out, looking haughty even with the sheets wrapped up around his waist.

“And maybe someone like  _me_  can’t appreciate someone like  _you_ ,” Ron grumbles as he buttons up his shirt, unsure if he wanted to sound ironic or not. Maybe Ron can fall in bed with men, but not in love with them. Maybe he can only love one woman, even if she doesn’t love him back anymore. Maybe he can’t stand Cormac more than a few hours in a row, though he gives splendid blow jobs. Ron doesn’t know, and right now he doesn’t care. His birthday was a fiasco spent at the hospital after Harry got himself admitted for the fifth time in as many weeks for minor injuries — Ron suspects he’s being reckless on purpose in order to get into Padma Patil’s pants because Harry never goes to St Mungo’s willingly, and Padma has been his Healer for five and a half weeks. Then his mother started to nag him about his lack of wife and children, and Hermione showed up with bloody Theodore Nott. Cormac was supposed to make it all go away.

Instead, he’s making Ron’s brain smoke.

“I think I should go.”

Cormac looks almost like a regular human being, instead of the most obnoxious bloke Ron knows, including Zacharias Smith and Gilderoy Lockhart. And he looks pained. “I think you should, yes.”

Ron doesn’t expect the pang of sadness that hits him when he closes the door of Cormac’s flat behind him. Maybe Cormac sort of grew on him or something. In any case, Ron managed to blow it, like he does everything.

At least, he has his job.

###  **APRIL**

Ron looks at the panel of photographs on his desk with a heavy heart. He’s learned to keep his emotions in check, to keep a certain distance between himself and the case at hand because that’s the job, but sometimes, he just can’t help it. Thirteen women between the age of fourteen and thirty-two, from all kinds of blood heritage, over the past ten years. Thirteen women who had been ripped from their homes and left to rot in a ditch or on the side of the road. Thirteen women whose murderers were either not arrested, charged, found guilty, or died before proper prosecution, remaining forever unpunished for their crime. Thirteen women whom justice had failed in some way. Thirteen women.

And still, Ron must stop the person who decided to avenge them. He pulls another set of photographs—these are from the active case. The faces of men who helped murderers escape justice unscathed: the Wizengamot member and judge Patrick Foddock, who had a history of leniency towards rape; the Auror Dirk Lincent, who was known for turning a blind eye to domestic violence and whose death turned the case into top-priority; Gilbert Sizler, an apothecary who sold forbidden Lust Potions on the black market and repeatedly refused to come forward with his client list even after a three-day trip to Azkaban; Manuel Gerdas, a Healer who had ignored signs of both rape and domestic abuse on several occasions; and Quentin Mardon, a known recidivist rapist. The murderer left pictures of the thirteen women at each murder scene.

And Ron must stop them, regardless of his own feelings, because that’s the job. A job he worked for all his life, a job that brought him standing and stability, a job that makes him happy to wake up every day, or at least used to. Now that he’s staring at the pictures and Harry’s empty chair, Ron isn’t so sure being an Auror is what he wants to do with the rest of his life. After all, he has no hopes of promotions, since Harry will get them all even with his shenanigans with St Mungo’s, and his moral compass isn’t fond of hunting people looking to avenge their loved ones. If he had Fred’s murderer in front of him, Ron wouldn’t bet on his Auror code winning against his unresolved feelings of loss.

Ron closes the file. He wants to owl Cormac, but Cormac hasn’t been returning his owls for three weeks now. He can’t reach out to his sister because she lives with Hermione, and he can’t ask to see Hermione because she’ll probably be with sodding Nott. And Harry… Well, Harry is probably spending time with Teddy and Andromeda, or complaining to Padma about a broken ankle or something. So Ron pulls out his Spellular—he has to admit Busy Pumpkin did a great job of bringing Muggle technology to the wizarding world, even if it stings—and calls the one person who has never let him down since the war ended, though he never would have thought that man would be someone he could count on.

“Percy? It’s Ron. Fancy a lager? Yes, now would be brill. I’ll meet you at the Niffler.”

Ron Shrinks the case file and pockets it before he casts a swift Cleaning Charm on the room and walks briskly towards the closest Apparition point. When he pushes the door of the Nifty Niffler, he finds his brother already sat at a table, waiting impatiently in front of a glass of water.

“Thanks for coming,” Ron says. He orders a Butterbeer from the nice lad Gemma, the owner, has hired, and picks at the crisps that appeared on the table.

“Why did you call me in the middle of the day?” Percy asks. “At least you’re not day-drinking.”

Ron snorts. He does like Percy better nowadays, but sometimes he’s reminded of why he used to dislike him so much. The waiter brings his drink and Ron gives him a handful of coins. “Just a rough case and a big dose of loneliness,” Ron says and takes a swig of his non-alcoholic beer—he’s on duty, after all.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Percy chides. “Where is Harry?”

Ron smirks. “Where do you think?”

Percy sighs. “I’ll talk to him or ask Audrey to test the waters. We can’t keep having him in the hospital every other day!”

Ron smiles, thinking Percy has an obnoxious and personal way of expressing affection and care. “How is Audrey?”

Percy immediately lights up like a bloody Christmas tree. “She’s brilliant. I think I’m going to propose soon. I just… I just can’t wait to be married to her, you know? And with George and Angelina getting closer and closer to it, I have to pick my moment carefully if we don’t want to celebrate two weddings in one year.”

“I think Mum would be over the moon either way, Percy. Untwist your wand and do whatever is right for you.”

Percy smiles. “Thanks, Ron.”

Ron gives him a wide grin. “Thank  _you_  for coming.”

“Anytime,” Percy says, and Ron knows he means it, even if he will complain about it later. It’s a family trait, after all.

###  **MAY**

It’s meant to be a boring day, like every year since the actual Battle of Hogwarts. A boring day filled with phoney memorials and absurd discourses about the value of life. Ron and his family always do their own memorial on the third, a quiet ceremony followed by a big dinner with everyone they loved to celebrate what their fallen loved ones had fought for. Someone would always cry at one point, but unlike the official memorial, it would be genuine sadness and not a flashy one, something to make oneself look good. Ron hates the Battle of Hogwarts Anniversary. It’s always terribly boring.

But not tonight. As soon as Harry’s usual speech is done, the lights go off. A few Lumos are cast, but the attacker must have used Peruvian Darkness Powder, so the Great Hall is soon dunked into darkness. Then, there is a spark of red, then green, and people scream. Ron grabs his wand and Summons the flashlight he keeps in his bag at all times. Feeling the adrenaline rushing through his veins, he runs through the mass of distraught guests. He jumps over a chair, and rushes towards the flying sparks. Then something hits him from behind, there’s a crushing pain, and the last thing he sees before everything goes dark is long blond hair escaping a dark hood as the killer flees.

When Ron wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed, and his left leg is missing.

At first, he screams. For eight long minutes, he screams, staring helplessly at the stump below his knee. A Healer rushes in and casts a Silencing Charm on him while he fumbles for a Sleeping Draught to pour into Ron’s intravenous drip. Ron tries to get up, and when he realises he can’t, he swings his fists at the Healer who reacts with a swift _Incarcerous_ , and soon Ron is no longer a threat. And so, he cries, feeling powerless and alone, and that bloody pain in his leg is killing him. For a second, he thinks it hurts so much he would have asked them to cut it off if it weren’t already severed. He gives a strangled laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and screams again. Then the Sleeping Draught overcomes him, and he falls back into a deep and heavy sleep.

The second time Ron wakes up, Harry and Hermione are by his side. They look dishevelled and exhausted with their puffy eyes and messy hair. They’re arguing, but he’s too drugged up to understand what they’re saying. He groans, and they immediately turn to him. Ron manages to turn on his side and winces at the pain despite the painkillers the Healers have been flooding him with. Hermione tries to speak to him, but Ron only groans at her before he closes his eyes and tries to sleep again. It hurts less when he sleeps.

The third time Ron awakes, Cormac McLaggen of all people is standing in the hallway, having heated words with Hermione. Ron decidedly doesn’t want to deal with that now, but he’s also curious — and any distraction from the pain both in his head and in his body is welcome. Cormac makes big hand gestures, and Hermione narrows her eyes and points an angry finger at him. When Ron manages to hoist himself up with his elbows to get a better view, he hears a clear laugh from the other side of the bed. Shite.

“McLaggen, uh?” Harry says with false cheer, looking sad and tired. Ron clears his throat noisily. He hasn’t talked in — how many days has it been? Harry grabs a cup of water and hands it to Ron with a gentle smile. “Turns out you’re better at keeping secrets than everyone thought.”

Ron swallows and blinks, feeling a bit dizzy. “It’s always easy to keep to yourself things you’re ashamed of,” he manages to say. “I don’t know why he’s here, we broke up ages ago. And I was an utter pillock about it, so I don’t see why he’d come here, especially now that I’m a bloody cripple.”

“Ron—” Harry starts, but Ron isn’t in the mood to cheer him up. He’s the one who got his leg cut off, not Harry, and he’s not dealing with his guilt for not foreseeing this right now.

“Make them go away,” Ron says roughly. “I want to sleep.”

Harry sighs, defeated. “All right, I’ll be here next time you wake up.”

“I don’t care,” Ron says, facing the other side and closing his eyes tightly so Harry won’t see his tears.

The fourth time Ron comes to, he’s alone. He can see silhouettes behind the doors, and then his Healer enters the room. “Ah, good, you’re awake,” he says with a gentle smile. Ron wants to punch his stupid face.

“What do you want?” Ron snarls.

The Healer takes a chair and drags it next to Ron’s bed. “I’m Healer Montgomery. I’m here to take you through what happened and what is going to happen next.” Montgomery pulls out a Spelloscope and casts a _Lumos_ _Minima_. “Follow the light please,” he says, and Ron does instinctively. The Healer helps Ron into a sitting position and puts his Spelloscope on his back. He takes his time to listen in, and Ron considers throwing a punch at him. He’s been dying to pick up a fight, with anyone really. With his wand, he casts a diagnosis spell on Ron’s body, hovering a while over Ron’s stump. “That’s good, Mr Weasley. Very good.” Ron snorts, pretty sure that there’s nothing  _good_  about his bloody missing leg.

“When can I leave?” Ron asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Healer frowns. “Don’t you care to know what happened?”

“Actually no, I don’t,” Ron says. “I cared about my leg, but nobody asked for my opinion then, did they? You just went and cut it off like bloody barbarians without my consent.” Ron laughs darkly. “I bet you felt good doing it. ‘I’m saving a life’, you told yourself while destroying mine.” Ron grabs his wand and draws it on the Healer. “Fucking get out of here before I make you.”

The Healer remains very calm. “We had to cut your leg because trying to keep it would have killed you. You were hit with a Spreading Curse, the only way to stop it is to cut the contaminated body parts.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ron spits out. “We’re wizards for Merlin’s sake! There must have been another way!”

The Healer shakes his head. “There wasn’t. However, we have been able to help your recovery speed up, and you should be able to be fitted with a temporary prosthetic quite soon.” Montgomery smiles. “We are wizards, after all.”

Ron looks at his stump, sighs, and hexes the Healer.

The fifth time Ron opens his eyes, both Harry and Hermione are asleep in the little St Mungo’s armchairs. There is a mess of chocolate frogs, Weasley Wheezes paraphernalia, and a woollen hand-knit red and blue scarf obviously made by his mother on the bedside table. Ron should be happy, but he only feels pitied and small, and it makes him want to crawl back under the sheets he hasn’t left in most likely two weeks. They must have put him under to try Skele-Gro, and when that hadn’t worked…

Ron grabs for his wand and casts a Silencing Charm on Harry and Hermione. Then he calls for a Healer and asks for a wheelchair. The Healer agrees but asks a mediwizard to escort Ron out. Apparently, Ron isn’t fit to be on his own even if he’s cleared for at-home care.

In the St Mungo’s lobby, Ron makes the mediwizard stop. “I need to make a call,” Ron says. The man hands him the lobby’s telephone handset, and Ron dials the number of Percy’s spellular.

“Can you get me?” Ron asks without preamble.

There’s a short silence. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Nine minutes and fifty seconds later, Percy and Audrey enter the St Mungo’s lobby. Percy dismisses the mediwizard with his usual lack of tact while Audrey signs Ron out at the front desk and grabs his potions and medication.

“Do you want to go back to Grimmauld Place?” Percy wants to know.

Ron, still stuck in St Mungo’s patient robes, looks down at his one foot. “No.”

“Audrey?” She nods. “You’re welcome to stay at our place if you want.”

Ron nods too, and Percy smiles. It’s a genuine smile, with no pity or restrained sadness in it. And for the first time since he first woke up, Ron feels almost okay.

###  **JUNE**

“Fuck off, Hermione,” Ron spits and throws the teapot at her face.

She shields herself with a  _Protego_  and recoils. “Ron, let me just—”

“I said  _leave me alone_!” Ron yells and casts a  _Flipendo_. She doesn’t expect it and it hits her, causing her to fall.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Hermione says in a sad voice, and Ron doesn’t care. He’s been stuck in this bloody armchair for most of the three days since Harry guilted him into moving back to Grimmauld Place, two weeks after he got out of the hospital. He regrets the decision every single minute. Percy and Audrey visit every night, and they’re the only two people he tolerates. Even his mother doesn’t dare approach him after he called her a bitch when she chided him for leaving the hospital without notice. Ron knows he’s being awful, but it’s the only way he can deal with the raging anger of losing his leg. His friends try. Daphne and Terence came the second night, but Ron went back to calling them Greengrass and Higgs, calling them names and telling them to get their Slytherin arses out of his house. Harry cleaned up after him as always, apologising like Ron was something to be ashamed of.

Ron wiggles his prosthetic leg, looking at it warily. The thing is a hoax. It doesn’t feel anything like his own leg, and it looks horrible and inert and absolutely not  _his_. He hates it even more than the gaping hole left when his leg was simply absent. At least that felt real. This  _leg_? It feels like a toy, a ridiculous, ironic toy.

Ron’s only luck is that wizarding recovery is fast, what with the potions and charms specifically conceived to help wizards get back on their feet. Ron laughs bitterly. Or foot.

Ron Summons his wheelchair and decides to go back to bed on his own. When he arrives in front of the stairs, he decides to cast a  _Wingardium Leviosa_  on it and Levitates himself up. Obviously, it doesn’t work since Hermione said it wouldn’t, and Ron ends up stuck halfway up the stairs unable to get up with his prosthetic having flown off down the stairs, and no way to call for help since his wand is out of reach and he hasn’t been able to cast a  _Patronus_  since the attack anyway. So he waits.

Something like three hours after being tipped out of the chair, there is a heavy knock on the door. After ten minutes of constant knocking, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini —of all people!— barge in, almost blowing up the door on its hinges, and help Ron get out of his little  _predicament_.

Now, they’re all sitting in silence in Grimmauld Place’s living room, and Ron almost wishes he was still stuck on the stairs. “What do you want?” he asks.

“They said you’d be more charming than usual, but I don’t see any difference. Do you Blaise?”

“That I don’t, Pansy,” he says like they’re hosts on a ridiculous show to make fun of Ron’s predicament.

“No one asked you to come,” Ron grumbles.

Parkinson smirks. “Hermione did.”

Ron sighs. “What do you want?”

Zabini pulls out a bag with the Busy Pumpkin insignia. “Open it,” he says with a smile some would call charming and Ron would call ominous. He takes the bag anyway — more ammunition to throw at them.

He opens it and finds it bottomless. It takes Ron a minute to find the four packages and pull them out one after the other.

“It’s a prototype,” Parkinson says quickly, suddenly looking shifty.

“But we’re very confident that you’ll be pleased.”

Ron lifts up his head. “What is it?”

“It’s a prosthetic, darling. It’s Muggle-wizarding technology. It chooses you, like a wand, but it’s inspired by Muggle science and prosthetic techniques.”

Ron can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s loath to admit it, but he feels a spark of hope burning low in his heart. “How do I try it?”

Zabini smiles, and it’s still wolfish, but with a tinge of understanding. “You put it on, like your actual prosthetic.”

Ron does, pulling off the leg and throwing it to the ground without a second thought. He doesn’t care that two of his childhood enemies are seeing him this way — he just wants to try the legs, desperately hopeful one of them will work on him, will pick him. He stops. “What happens if none of them chooses me?”

“We make more,” Parkinson says firmly, and Ron trusts the spark in her eye more than her words. That woman is going to find him a leg, he knows.

Ron opens the first box and looks at the [leg](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/tardis/images/0/03/Ram%252527s_prosthetic_leg.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20161110085807). It’s shaped like a real leg, but there are cogs and pistons in it. It doesn’t try to look like a leg, but it’s articulated and seems efficient. Ron positions it in front of his stump, right under the knee, and the prosthetic deploys little pliers that look like tentacles. They fix themselves to Ron’s skin and it hurts terribly. Ron waits, and nothing happens. “What now?” He asks, febrile.

“Point your wand to it, make a Z with it and say  _Fixatem_ ,” Zabini answers.

Almost trembling, Ron points his wand and casts.

Nothing happens.

“Try another one,” Parkinson says before Ron can get discouraged.

Ron pulls out another leg, putting the first one carefully on the footrest. He repeats the procedure. This time, the leg lights up and growls, then shuts down. Ron doesn’t hesitate, he puts it next to the first and tries the third one. He knows his tension must be visible in his features, but he refuses to give up. This is his chance. He can’t give up now.

“ _Fixatem_ ,” Ron says, and the leg lights up vividly. Soon enough, the tentacles merge with his leg, like a weld. The cogs and pistons move, and Ron can feel it in his whole body when the leg starts to be a part of him. “Fantastic,” he whispers.

“We know,” Parkinson says smugly.

“To remove it, you have to make the same wand movement, only in reverse, and say  _Exsolvo_.” Ron is about to rise when Zabini stops him. “You can’t yet. You still need Muggle and magical physical therapy. But it will be ten times quicker. By August, you should be able to walk with a cane, and by the end of the year, you should be good as new.”

“I’ll never be good as new,” Ron mutters darkly. Then, he tries to move his toes, and it works. It’s a strange feeling, not like it used to be, but still, it works. He takes a deep breath and smiles genuinely for the first time since the accident. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Parkinson and Zabini share a knowing look. “You’re welcome,” they say in unison.

###  **JULY**

“I can’t, Hermione, I need a break.”

Ron wipes his forehead with his hand and sighs, resting his elbows on the parallel bars they’d set in the vestibule of Grimmauld Place.

“Just another ten minutes, Ron. You already chased off three physical therapists, you’re not going to fire me as well.”

Ron gives a heavy smile. “Fine, but only because you asked so nicely.”

Hermione grins. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Ron takes a deep breath and forces himself to continue. Each hand on a bar, he hoists himself through each step until he finds his footing and tries to spread his weight on his feet. By instinct, he wants to put all his weight on his right leg, and the challenge is to trust the leg — and himself — to support him. Little by little, he manages to take a few steps, gradually lessening his grip on the parallel bars, letting his legs and feet bear most of his weight. When he manages to walk three whole steps with his hands hovering over the bars, he stops. “Okay, this time, I’m done,” Ron says and drags himself to the sofa before he collapses on it.

Hermione smiles. “I’ll get you some water. Great job, Ron.”

Ron waves his hand vaguely in acknowledgment and closes his eyes. The leg almost feels like his own now. He can wiggle his toes every other time he tries, and the flexion works well, but it’s still hard to walk with it. It’s not the same as it used to be, and Ron keeps trying to get there when he knows he should try to adapt to his new reality instead — but that would mean giving up on his old life, and he’s not ready for that yet.

“Blaise said you’d be able to walk by August, didn’t he?” Hermione reminds him when he complains about his slow progress.

“With a cane,” Ron says darkly. He never pictured himself with a bloody  _cane_. “I’m never getting reinstated as an Auror with a  _cane_.”

Hermione scowls. “Do you really want to talk about Mad-Eye Moody? Because he was an amazing Auror and he was disabled.”

Ron snorts. “You can say  _crippled_ , Hermione.”

Hermione straightens up and looks at him right in the eye. “No, I can’t.”

Ron rolls his eyes and Levitates his favourite blanket over himself. One of the few advantages of being  _disabled_  is no one blames him for lounging on the sofa for hours. Except Hermione, of course, but she always has a bone to pick anyway. Ron wishes Kreacher hadn’t been sent to Hogwarts, so he could ask him for a sandwich. He’s certainly not asking Hermione.

“I’m never playing Quidditch again, though.”

Hermione groans loudly and throws a pillow at him. Ron almost falls of the sofa in surprise. “Ronald, will you fucking stop feeling sorry for yourself? You have one of the most top-notch prosthetics ever made in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds! Once you manage to get your head out of your arse, you’ll realise that the world is your bloody oyster and if you’re willing to work, you can do anything. Most Muggles — and wizards —don’t have your chance. I’m not saying you’re not entitled to some self-pity and genuine grief— what you lived through… It’s unbearable. But you have better options than most, so please don’t waste them.”

Ron stares at his best friend with his mouth agape, completely thrown off. Then he giggles helplessly for a good two minutes, only interrupted by Hermione’s  _What? What?_ “Merlin, I love you,” Ron says softly. “I needed that.”

Hermione blushes readily and blabbers something unintelligible, and Ron feels the need to kiss her silly. He wishes he could stand up and cross the distance between them, topple her back in his arms and kiss her into oblivion. Ron grins to himself. Maybe he could add that to his motivation list.

###  **AUGUST**

Ron is sitting in his favourite armchair, the red Chesterfield he stole with Harry that first summer after the war only to have it almost ruined by Hermione’s bloody cat. His cane is resting against the armrest — it’s a neat thing, and Ron almost likes it. It’s made of oak and the steel knob is engraved with  _Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry_ , a gift from Hermione and Harry to remind him he’s not worth any less despite his one flesh leg. And the thing is, Ron is slowly starting to believe it. And when he has doubts, he runs his fingers on the engraved words and breathes in deeply, as if to draw courage from it.

He’s quieter now, even surrounded by his family. He listens to them talk about their lives, clinking their glasses to celebrate George and Angelina’s engagement and both Audrey’s and Fleur’s pregnancies. Charlie mentions he has a boyfriend — and isn’t that a surprise, when everyone thought he could never like someone more than he liked his dragons — and Ginny brags that she has two, to Ron’s mum’s horror.

Harry and Hermione are chatting with George, and Hermione turns to him. She looks beautiful with her hair tied into tight braids pulled into a bun and her eyes gleaming with joy. She brought an issue of  _Witch Weekly_  featuring Millicent Bulstrode’s gorgeous curves, and the news that Gregory Goyle opened a bakery in Carkitt Market. Ron doesn’t care, but he’s happy for Hermione. It’s good publicity for the Bonding Association, as it’s now known. He catches her eye, and she smiles at him. That smile he always loved on her, though he misses her crooked teeth a bit. He liked that about her. Ron sighs to himself. He likes everything about Hermione.

Ever since the accident, he’s been thinking about her more than ever. She was the one who put up with his terrible mood most of the time, and she did it with a smile and some serious determination. Spending so much time with her reminded him of how much they used to get along. Sure, they’d fallen apart, but Ron has a feeling they needed to be apart for a while before they could get back together.

Then he remembers Theodore Nott.

Hermione winks at him and Ron grins. He can deal with Theodore Nott.

###  **SEPTEMBER**

“Hey Ron,” Harry calls from the front door as he joins Ron in the kitchen where Ron is having a snack. “Sorry I’m late, I was with Teddy and Andromeda.”

Ron takes in Harry’s tired face and sad eyes. “How is she?”

Harry collapses on the sofa with a sigh. “The Vanishing Sickness is slowly getting worse. At first it was just fingernails, hair, a patch of skin… But she lost a toe recently, and that’s bad Ron. That’s really bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ron says and Harry nods in appreciation. “How is Teddy taking it?”

Harry smiles a little. “He’s strong.”

“I’m glad he’s doing okay,” Ron says. He knows there isn’t much else he can do than listen.

“How is Hermione?” Harry asks, eager to change topics, pouring tea into his cup. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She and Nott are fighting about her parents,” Ron says, unable to hide the smugness in his voice. “She told me over the Muggle telephone.”

“It’s been a lot of ups and downs lately,” Harry concurs. “But don’t be too hopeful though, they always make up.”

“He told her that her family is better off not knowing about what they lost,” Ron says in a serious voice.

“He’s not wrong,” Harry says. “Sometimes it’s better to be kept in the dark.”

“I disagree,” Ron says. “And so does Hermione.”

Harry sighs and drinks his tea slowly. “Then good for you, mate.”

Ron feels a little guilty, rejoicing in Hermione’s relationship falling apart. But he knows what he wants now, and he’s willing to do anything to get it. And he knows, he  _knows_  there’s still something between them. Hermione calls him every day to complain about Nott, talk about her life and work, worry about her parents and little Astrid whom she’s starting to love so much. Just like when they were together, at the beginning. Before they grew apart. Before they decided they were better off as friends. If losing his leg was one of the direst trials he has lived through, at least it brought Hermione back to him, or so he hopes. “Anyway, Hermione is still tracking her deserter from the first OVERCOME run,” Ron says, loathe to remain on the subject of his home-breaker potential status.

“Who?”

Ron hoists himself up and walks to the counter with the help of his cane. “Helen Dawlish. You know, that Ravenclaw girl she brought in the snake pit. She bailed after a while, and no one knows why.”

Harry stops, his hand holding his cup halfway to his mouth. “Wait, Dawlish’s daughter?”

“Yeah, the cute blonde three years below. She ran the Duelling club in sixth year.”

Harry rises to his feet, making the chair screech. “Ron, you’re a genius.”

“I am?” Ron asks doubtfully, staring at a very excited Harry now pacing the kitchen.

“Yes! Our suspect is a long-haired blonde witch who has a bone to pick with the authorities, especially the ones who have a tendency to be lenient towards criminals.”

Ron leans back against the counter, resting his weigh on his right foot for a while. “I still don’t see what Hermione’s lost puppy has to do with it.”

“I think she’s the Thirteen Killer. I think she wasn’t the failure Hermione thought she was—except that she might have become er, you know, a murderer—and that she truly despises her father’s deeds! Her father who bent his head and helped the Death Eaters’ reign of terror… Almost every victim was in power during Voldemort’s rule!”

“This is extremely circumstantial, Harry,” Ron says, frowning.

Harry sighs. “I know. I need more proof.” Ron winces. “ _We_  need more proof,” Harry corrects, trying an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine,” Ron lies. “I’ll be your sounding board. Yes?”

Harry grins. “Yes, of course. I need your advice. You’re the mastermind of the team, you know?”

It’s hard to believe it when he has made no progress on the case ever since he lost his leg. But he takes Harry’s trust for what it is and smiles. “I know,” he says.

“Look, I’m going to rummage through our files one more time with Dawlish in mind, and then I’ll be back with what I found, all right?” Harry says, in a hurry after looking at the clock.

“Say hi to Padma for me!” Ron yells and he hears Harry’s files fall on the vestibule’s floor with a curse. Ron smiles. Not completely useless, is he?

###  **OCTOBER**

“I’m done with the Aurors,” Ron says when Harry, still half-asleep, comes into the kitchen for his morning tea.

“What?” Harry says, rubbing his eyes and smothering a yawn. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.” Ron hobbles a bit from the kitchen counter to his seat by the table. He can walk without a cane now, but it’s still difficult to move. “I’m joining Wizard Wheezes full time.”

Harry looks shocked. “I thought you were just helping out to get used to walking again?”

“I was, and then I realised — I don’t want to be an Auror anymore. My priorities have changed. I don’t want to risk my life every day, I don’t want to keep working my arse off knowing I’ll never get promoted.”

Harry looks at him with sad, pitiful eyes. “Ron, you know I—”

“This isn’t about you, Harry!” Ron explodes. “This is about  _me_. And I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to win back Hermione and build a home with her, have children whom I will be able to watch grow up. I want to spend more time with my family. Working with George, going to Ginny’s matches, having dinner with Bill and drinks with Percy, and why not take a holiday to Romania to spend time with Charlie! I want to be able to tell my Mum and Dad that I’m safe and never getting hurt in the job again.” Harry looks at his feet, and Ron knows he worries he’s not in Ron’s plans. “And I want to be happy for my best friend’s accomplishments and love life without being secretly bitter about it. I want to tell you all about my full, amazing life, and hear all about yours. I don’t want to be a burden you carry though your life and career, Harry. I want to be my own person, and I can’t do it within the Auror Corps.”

“That was quite a monologue,” Padma says, wearing Harry’s shirt, from the kitchen’s door.

Ron looks at her, then at Harry who’s blushing readily. “Looks like someone isn’t going to end up so much in the hospital, doesn’t it?”

“He better come. Just not as a patient,” she adds, kissing Harry’s cheek. Harry leans into her touch, looking soft and at home, and Ron knows Harry is truly in love.

“About what you said,” Harry says after pulling Padma on his lap. “I think I understand. I’m sorry for reacting like I did. You’re entitled to your own path, your own happiness. And I want to support you in any way I can.”

“You’re a good friend, Harry,” Ron says, moved.

Harry smiles. “And you’re an even better one.”

“Come on,” Padma sighs. “Do you need a room or what?”

“I like her,” Ron says with a smirk.

“I like her, too,” Harry concurs, grinning sweetly at Padma.

“And I like myself as well. Now, who wants pancakes?”

###  **NOVEMBER**

“So,” Harry asks, sitting cross-legged at the end of Ron’s bed. “What happened?”

Ron casts  _Exsolvo_  on his left leg and carefully Levitates it to the desk. He settles himself against the headboard, trying not to be too self-conscious about his jean-covered stump. “You were at Padma’s for the night and Hermione came to visit. We played Muggle Scrabble — I still can’t believe the letters don’t change each turn and stay silent when you get a word wrong — and she obviously won.”

“And?” Harry asks impatiently, looking like a fourteen-year-old eager for gossip.

“And we talked,” Ron continues, letting the tension build. “We talked until three o’clock at least, and then she kissed me.”

“What?” Harry says, gobsmacked. “What did you do? What did you say? Was she drunk?”

“Because I can’t get Hermione without her being drunk?” Ron says, a bit angry.

“No, sorry, I mean… She’s not a cheater and she’s still with Nott, right?”

“I think it’s because I said I wanted to set up a WOKE activity with Wheezes. Something to help little Muggle-born to learn about witchcraft and wizardry in a fun, casual way.” Ron grins smugly. “She had her legs on my lap and just looked at me, like that first time we kissed, and I knew she was going to kiss me then too.”

“I’m so happy for you, mate,” Harry says, slouching on the bed with a smile going up to his ears. “What happened next?”

Ron sighs, looking almost bleak. “Then she made those big wide eyes and left.”

“Do you think she’s going to break up with Nott?”

Ron runs a hand through his unruly hair. It needs a good wash. “I hope so, but I’m not pushing her either way. She knows what I want.”

Harry frowns. “I thought you didn’t get to talk?”

Ron laughs. “After that kiss, I’m telling you, she  _knows_.”

###  **DECEMBER**

“You look happy,” Harry says, looking at Ron suspiciously.

“Oh, I am,” Ron says, grinning.

Harry sits on the armrest of Ron’s chair in the Burrow’s living room. For once, they’re the first to arrive to the annual Christmas lunch. Ron didn’t want to be forced to hobble his way to an armchair in front of his whole family. “What happened?”

“Let’s just say Hermione managed to convince me to have sex with her despite the— everything, and she was very right about it, like she always is.”

“I so don’t want to hear about you and Hermione getting it on, but I’m thrilled for you, mate.” Harry sighs contentedly. “Merlin, this must be what if feels like to have your divorced parents getting back together.”

“Now,  _you_ ’re being disgusting.”

They have just started laughing when they hear Ron’s mother by the front door.

“Hello, Charlie, dear—Oh, Merlin.”

“What’s happening?” Ron whispers. “Go look!”

Harry carefully walks near the entrance when he distinctively squeaks. He comes back quickly towards Ron, eyes widened in alarm.

“Charlie brought Draco Malfoy to Christmas.”

“No,” Ron whispers, incredulous. He rises quicker than usual and walks almost steadily to the front door where Charlie and Malfoy are chatting with Ron’s mum, who doesn’t look so startled anymore. She looks positively swayed.

“What is he doing here?” Ron asks roughly, wishing he had his cane. Big emotions always make him wobble.

“Good afternoon, Weasley,” Malfoy articulates with a smooth smile. “I take it Hermione forgot to warn you. I heard that you two got back together. Congratulations on managing to get her back, she’s a keeper.”

“He’s here with me, Ron,” Charlie growls, darting angry eyes at Ron and Harry.

“So, it is true,” Ginny says from behind them. “You’re only into dragons!”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Come on, Ginny. Do you really think you’re the first one to make that joke? Charles gets it all the time.” He leans towards her and Ron almost jumps between them. “Blaise sends his regards.” Ginny blushes. She  _blushes_. Ron is going to make Slytherin pudding today.

“Are you friends with him now? And where did you come from?” Harry whispers to Ginny when they walk past Ron, who’s still standing in the vestibule, glaring at Malfoy.

Ginny grins. “I came through the back door.”

“There is no back door in the Burrow,” Harry replies.

“That you know of,” she taunts and saunters away like the bloody minx she is.

“Ron,” Charlie says, and there’s a warning in his tone. Ron doesn’t dare defy him when he talks like that, even though he’s taller than him. Charlie is  _still_  his older brother, and a bloody dragon tamer, while Ron is… just Ron.

Ron sighs. “Fine. Will you come in, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s face twitches. “Please call me Draco.”

Strangely, Malfoy’s discomfort makes Ron feel better. At least they’re both going to be awkward. “Only if you call me  _Ron_ ,” he says sweetly.

Malfoy grimaces. “R—on. So pleased to be invited to your home for the festivities.”

“Come on Draco, stop being so uptight,” Charlie laughs. “Be yourself, they’ll like you.”

“I doubt that,” both Malfoy and Ron say.

“See? Already on the same page,” Charlie says, grinning, and Ron hates him a little.

“So, Malfoy,” Ron starts as they all walk to the living room, unable to call him  _Draco_  yet. “What have you been doing with your life lately? Besides shagging my brother, of course.

“Ron!” Ron’s mum cries. “Will you—”

“It’s all right, Mrs Weasley,” Malfoy says, sending a charming smile to Ron’s mum. “I’ve spent a few years in Brazil where I became a Healer for both magical humans and creatures. The Romanian Dragon Reserve spotted me two years ago, and I’ve been shagging your brother for six months. Does that answer your questions,  _Ron_?”

Ron gives a strained smile. “Perfectly.”

The rest of the family soon arrives. George, Angelina, Percy, and Audrey remain pretty cold to Malfoy, while Bill —  _William_  — Fleur, and, of course, Hermione, chat amiably with the snake. Ron doesn’t hate the bloke anymore. He knows Draco has changed from the little Hermione had told him. Still, that doesn’t mean he wants to celebrate Christmas with him. But what upsets Ron most are the discreet looks Harry keeps sending to Malfoy, like a hawk on its prey. He knows Ginny notices too, and they both share a knowing look.

Those two never managed to stay polite when in each other’s vicinity, and Ron isn’t sure this time is any different than before.

Except, maybe, that Harry’s looks are less suspicious and more intrigued than they used to be. And isn’t that even more worrying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Spellular_ is from the fic _Howlr_ by Partialtopotter.


	3. It Takes Two to Tango (2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working her arse off to take home the European Quidditch Cup with the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny must deal with overwhelming expectations from her captain, mother and boyfriend, and her life doesn't feel so glamorous when everyone wants a piece of her and she has nothing left to give anymore.

#  **IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO**

* * *

###  **JANUARY**

Ginny grips the handle of her broom and smiles. She’s a master of weaving, she can weave all day if her Captain wants it. And she probably will, because Gwenog Jones is a fucking control freak and a perfectionist. But Ginny doesn’t mind: working hard is what she does. She trains and trains, and trains some more, almost every day. It’s driving Blaise mad, of course, but he’s a workaholic too, and Pansy’s next goal is to bring television to the wizarding world — surprisingly a harder task than phones and computers because it needs more than what Busy Pumpkin can provide by itself. While she trains for the European Cup, Blaise is trying to convince the Wizarding Wireless Office to join them on the adventure. “We’re doing it all backwards,” Blaise always says. “Next, we’ll develop cinemas.”

Ginny fell for Blaise’s passion and dry sense of humour. They became friends while she was dating Millicent, and one thing led to another. Things went south with Mils, but Blaise stayed around. They dated for a while, but it didn’t work out. Blaise and Ginny simply weren’t made to date only each other. Since they decided to be in a polyamorous relationship, things are much better, even though they break up every five weeks or so.

“Weasley!” Gwenog screams, “Focus!”

Ginny nods and back flips, just to show that she’s in for whatever Gwenog has in store for her.

Then, there’s a scream, and Draco’s voice calling the training off. Gwenog frowns and gives the green light for landing. Ginny hops off her broom before reaching the ground, like she always does, feeling cocky doing it.

“It’s Johanna, she broke her wrist. It’s bad, an  _Episkey_  won’t be enough,” Draco says, a line between his brows. The girls have never been in better shape since he joined the Holyhead Harpies as their team Healer. Gwenog wasn’t convinced at first — a man, even if he’s not on the team? — but eventually she decided to try him out and was satisfied with his skill, and, apparently, his queerness. “If he has to be a bloke, the least he can do is be bent,” she had declared once, making Ginny raise her eyebrows. But Gwenog is a strange person, it wasn’t the first nor the last time she’d hear weird things coming out of her mouth.

“How long before Gibbons can be back on the field?” Gwenog asks with her all-business voice. She cares a lot about her players, but she cares about the team even more.

“Two weeks. I used the last of my personal healing paste on Georgina yesterday, the new batch is brewing. I’ll  _Episkey_  it for comfort and basic healing, but if you want Johanna to smash those Bludgers in the Kestrels Chasers’ face, she has to rest.”

Gwenog nods. “And Sparks?”

“I’m visiting Georgina today for her last check-up. She’ll be back by the end of the week.”

“Good. I need my best Chaser on the field if we want to win against the Kenmare Kestrels next month.”

Ginny winces. Valmai Morgan and Ginny are both better than Georgina, and Gwenog knows that, but Georgina is Gwenog’s best mate and on and off girlfriend. They can’t compete with that.

Draco nods and goes back to Johanna’s side. He winks at Ginny and she feels better. It’s nice to have someone on her side here. She loves her teammates, and her teammates love her too, but it’s not the same. There’s still some competition, especially among the Chasers, and, of course, with the team’s Seeker, Leontina Gilbert.

“Nice goal earlier, Weasley,” Gretchen, the team’s Keeper, says with a light punch on Ginny’s shoulder. “Wanna go for pints later?”

“Thanks Langley, but I have a date I can’t miss,” Ginny answers with a wink.

Gretchen laughs. “Go get Pumpkined, then!”

“I’ll go with you,” Draco says, holding his medical bag with the Holyhead Harpies’ insignia on it. “I have to talk to Pansy about her sports brand.”

“I’ll Side-Along you,” Ginny offers.

Draco grins mischievously. “Let’s go by broom.”

Ginny laughs. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

###  **FEBRUARY**

“To the Kestrels’ demise!” Ron cheers, celebrating the Holyhead Harpies’ third win of the season.

“And the Wanderers’ and—sorry, Ron—the Cannons’ defeats as well!” Bill concurs, tousling Ron’s hair as he speaks.

Ginny bursts out laughing when she sees Ron’s cheek redden at Bill’s words. While her brothers start an argument over the Chudley Cannons’ merits, Ginny joins her mother and Blaise in the kitchen. She links her arms around him and lets her head lean on his shoulder. “What are you making?”

Blaise smiles and kisses her on the forehead. “An industrial amount of Cauldron Cakes.”

Ginny purrs. “Mmh, my favourite.”

“Obviously,” Ginny’s mum says. “You think I don’t know what my favourite daughter likes?”

Ginny laughs. “I’m your only daughter.”

Her mum suddenly turns serious. “And I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“Mum,” Ginny mumbles, cursing the Weasley complexion for its propensity to redden for no reason. She detaches herself from Blaise who discreetly leaves the kitchen.

“You always knew what you wanted,” Ginny’s mum says. “I’m only glad I didn’t stand in your way.”

Ginny smiles with a tinge of sadness. “You’ve always had my back, Mum. Even when you could have turned on me, you were an incredible support. I’m never forgetting that, whatever our differences.” When her mum starts to cry, Ginny sighs and takes into her arms. “It’s okay, Mum. I know this isn’t what you wanted for me, but I’m all right the way I am.”

Ginny’s Mum pulls away. “Don’t you dare say that, Ginevra Weasley. You are exactly the way you are supposed to be. I would never change you for all the Galleons in the world!”

Ginny laughs. “Mum, I meant the Quidditch and ‘I’m never ever getting married’ thing.”

“Oh. In that case, yes, I wish I could knock some sense into you, but I still love you exactly as you are,” Ginny’s mum says, smirking a little.

“You’re the best, Mum,” Ginny says and hugs her.

“Now bring me back my sous-chef and go have fun!”

Ginny leaves the kitchen, sending Blaise back to work on her way to the living room, catching a kiss in passing.

“Ah, the woman of the day,” Ginny’s dad says and kisses her hair. He only does it with her — his little girl — and each time, it makes her feel at home. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

Ginny leans on his shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiles and gently pushes her away. “Go mingle. Enjoy your party?”

Ginny nods. She feels like an eleven-year-old girl whenever she talks to him, a shy thing smitten with a boy who doesn’t notice her and who goes home to cry in her father’s arms. Merlin, she’s glad she grew up.

She sees Harry, Hermione, and Ron chatting in the corner. It’s still strange to be around them, sometimes. They have that special bond Ginny never quite managed to be part of, even though she’s their sister and best friend. She misses Neville and Luna terribly, because no one understands her like they do, just like those three know each other inside and out.

Ginny joins them anyway and sits on Harry’s lap without asking, just because she can. He kisses her shoulder and smiles. They’re better off as friends, siblings, whatever people want to call them. It’s better this way, where the casual touches and love is pure and free of expectations. Sometimes, Ginny wonders if she doesn’t love him even more since they broke up.

“Are we doing an after-party at the Witching Shack later?” Ginny asks.

Hermione smiles, her hand gently stroking Ron’s thigh. “Sure. Want to invite Pansy and the others? I'll ask Amanda to stay overnight with Rose and Hugo.”

Ginny winces. She hasn’t seen Millicent since they broke up two years ago, and she knows Ron doesn’t like much having Theo around even though it's been years since he and Hermione broke up. Two kids, a cottage by the sea, and he's still bloody insecure. “Sure. But just Greg and Draco, if that’s all right? Blaise will be glad to see them.”

Hermione agrees and leaves to call them. Ron nods his thanks and picks up his conversation about the next matches of the European Cup. The Harpies are far from being favourites, but they have better prognostics than the previous years. Ron is nice enough not to mention the former, but he’s trashing other teams, especially the Falmouth Falcons, the Harpies’ next big opponent.

When seven rings, Ginny says goodbye to her family and goes home with Harry, Hermione, Blaise, and Ron. Soon after, Pansy, Gregory, and Draco join them bearing gifts: Firewhisky, Icevodka, Elf wine, and a shitload of Exploding Bonbons and Cauldron cakes. With friends like that, Ginny never has to worry about feeding her guests at parties.

The night passes swiftly, alcohol and games helping. Everyone pretends not to notice Draco and Harry leaving together, as if no one knew they’d been shagging for nine months. Harry had left Padma after two years because of his unresolved feelings for Draco, but Draco had been quite elusive and picky— _scared_ —and Harry’s reluctance to admit Draco had changed hadn’t helped either. Everyone knows they’re not serious and are ‘just shagging’, but the betting pool regarding the officialisation of their relationship is brisk and obviously run by Ginny.

“Pay up, Greg,” she says. “You said ‘before Valentine’s day’, and tomorrow is the thirteenth.”

“I still have one day,” Gregory grumbles. “Can I pay you in cakes?”

Ginny winks at him. “You know your way around women, Greg.”

“Too bad he’s not into them!” Pansy laughs, and they soon all join her.

Ginny sighs happily, leaning back against Blaise’s torso. She loves her life so much, she can’t believe it’s her own.

###  **MARCH**

“Don’t chase the Quaffle if you see the Snitch, right?”

Ginny sighs, and finishes attaching her leather leg-shield. “I’m a Chaser, Barry. Do you really think I care more about the Snitch?” For the umpteenth time, Ginny regrets letting Barry Suthorn, a bloody journalist intern, follow her for a few months so he can do a piece on her for a newspaper. Though she has no problem helping an intern get ahead, Ginny has only accepted because he signed a contract to exclusively publish in  _The Quibbler_ , and she knows Xenophilius won’t let him print something outrageous about her or the team. “Ask me about my strategies, my relationship with my Captain, why did I become a Chaser…”

“So, what’s your strategy for today’s match against the Falmouth Falcons?”

Ginny grins. “No comment.”

She hears Barry groan behind her as she saunters away to join her teammates before the beginning show. She likes the Harpies’ routine. They all fly in a V formation, their capes flowing behind them, all of them looking like a huge hunting bird. Then they send green and yellow sparks into the air as they change their position to form a big flying H.

That’s when the fans scream their names, and Ginny loves every second of it. She loves the freedom of flying, the rush of the competition, the cheer of the crowd. Every bit is precious to her in its own way.

The European Cup referee whistles the beginning of the game, and Valmai gets the Quaffle. Ginny immediately flies into the Hawkshead Attacking Formation, forming an arrow with Georgina and Valmai, rushing to the goals. They swap the Quaffle a few times, troubling the Falmouth Falcons’ players. A few feet from the goals, Ginny gets the Quaffle back and starts weaving until it’s a full Woollongong Shimmy, and then ends the move with a Porskoff Ploy, faking a goal and then passing the Quaffle to Georgina who marks. The first goal of the game is always a bit of a show, to impress the audience and intimidate the opponents. After that, they go back to a more regular game, dodging Bludgers and even sending one back to the sender with a good broom kick. The opposing Chasers try a Parkin’s Pincer after the Harpies scored for the seventh time, and Ginny, stuck between two Chasers, truly believes she’s going to fall off her broom when a Bludger, courtesy of Gwenog, hits the third opposing Chaser heading towards her from the front. He falls and jumps back on his broom, but he’s too late: Ginny has already passed the Quaffle to Valmai. She dashes towards the goal like an arrow and scores. The crowd cheers, and Ginny high-fives Valmai when she flies past her.

The Falcons seem to find their momentum half an hour later. Their Beaters start to aim at the Harpies’ Keeper while their Chasers score five times in a row, crowding the scoring area, leaving Gretchen pissed off and ready to eat the shite out of the first one who dares come close to her. Ginny yells at the referee, calling for a Stooging foul, but the referee pretends he doesn’t hear. Gwenog yells Ginny’s name and makes a hand gesture. Ginny nods and suddenly brakes before she turns around and rushes up into the air. The opposite Chasers look at her, confused. She hears one wondering if Ginny is going to pull off a Snitchnip, catching the Snitch in place of Leontina — which would be ridiculous since that would disqualify the Harpies. The Falcons’ Seeker definitely thinks so, because he starts following Ginny around instead of Leontina. In the meantime, Valmai and Georgina got back the Quaffle and scored thrice. Ginny eventually comes down after some erratic weaving and catches the Quaffle on her way and scores.

When Leontina catches the Snitch half an hour later, the Holyhead Harpies win the match by one hundred and eighty points.

The only thing Ginny can hear when she lands is the sound of drums and trumpets exploding in musical glee. People cheer, sing, and scream, and Blaise runs to her on the field, sweeps her off her feet and swirls her in the air, his face split in the biggest smile she has ever seen on him. She laughs heartily, her head tipped back and her long ponytail flowing around them like a red flag of victory.

Truly, Ginny thinks, in that moment, she’s on top of the world.

 

_Art by Radish_

 

###  **APRIL**

“Merlin, I needed that,” Hermione says with a sigh as she leans deeper into the mud bath of Streeler Spa Care, the new hydrotherapy centre in Horizon Alley.

“I love mugglo-wizarding cooperation,” Ginny concurs, then snorts. “Well, I like it most of the time. Pansy spends half her time watching Muggle classics, so she can make wizarding adaptations for the Spellevision. It’s TV night every fucking night,” Ginny says, only half-laughing because she’d like her boyfriend to be more interested in sex than spending all his time on her sofa with his business associate.

Hermione sighs and removes a cucumber slice from her eye to take a look at her friend. “Tell me about it, Ron is all over the place too. He wants to be the first mugglo-wizarding toy-maker. It’s a trend now, nobody wants something only Muggle or wizarding, they all want the best of both worlds.”

Ginny grins. “How does it feel to know this is all your fault?”

Hermione laughs. “It feels good. And the publicity for the Bonding Programs? It’s incredible. Theo and I are way over our heads, we had to hire people to deal with the applications overflow. I can’t give it as much time as I want ever since I became Deputy Head of the DMLE. Then there was the book tour for the translation of  _Beedle the Bard,_  and now with the kids… I think I might have to step down.”

“You can always go back to it when Rose and Hugo are older,” Ginny offers. “Rose is already four, she’ll go to Muggle primary school soon.”

“It’s not just them — Ron takes care of them most of the time anyway, he’s been amazing since Hugo was born last year. Then there’s bloody Lucius Malfoy and his campaign to upgrade Azkaban’s prisoners’ rights. I hate to think that I agree with him, but he  _is_  right.” Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban and he started advocating for prisoners’ rights after an epidemic in 2007 that decimated the prison. He even managed to get a column in the  _Prophet_  — from Azkaban. Eventually, the Wizengamot commuted his sentence to assigned residence the next year hoping it would shut him up. It only made Malfoy Senior realise that advocating for prisoners’ right was his ticket back to the good side of power. “I just have too much work with the DMLE and Shacklebolt’s upcoming campaign for the next election.”

Ginny removes her own slices of cucumber and sits up in the mud. “What?”

Hermione blushes. “He wants me to run the campaign and become his Senior Undersecretary if he wins in 2011.”

“Merlin, that’s amazing, Hermione!”

Hermione sits up too, turning to face Ginny. “I can’t believe it. He came to me after recommending me for the DMLE and told me he wanted to reform the Wizarding World with a democratic system.” She laughs. “Ginny, he wants to further Muggle and Wizarding interaction and exchange,  _and_  better European relations! I just can’t believe this is real. He told me that he couldn’t imagine doing it without me. I’m just floored!”

Ginny feels her eyes water with pride and emotion. “You deserve it, Hermione. You worked so hard for this.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says. “God, what do they put in this mud?” she asks as she fans herself with her hand.

“I think it’s called emotion, but I might be wrong,” Ginny says with a smile.

Hermione blushes and scratches her nose. “What about you? What’s new?”

Ginny sighs. “You mean besides the overwhelming expectations from my Captain who wants me to give up on social life while she’s shagging half of the team, and from my boyfriend and mother who would love to see me settle down, get married, and have kids?” Hermione raises an eyebrow. “I’m doing fine, I’m just a bit tired, hence the spa with you. I just want to keep my life the way it is. Be free and win the fucking cup.”

Hermione laughs heartily. “I’m so proud of us. You, competing for the European Cup…”

“And you, for the Ministry!” Ginny says with a laugh. “We’re amazing.”

Hermione Summons two glasses of champagne from the bar. “That we are,” she says, and they clink their glasses.

They dress, chatting still, and leave the spa, feeling refreshed and cared for. Ginny doesn’t feel sore anymore, and she had had training that morning. She’s definitely leaving a good review online on WizPlaces. All in all, a wonderful day.

When they leave and find themselves on Horizon Alley, Ginny freezes.

Standing on the other side of the street is Millicent Bulstrode, looking glorious in a flowered dress, her tattooed arms adorned with more colours and patterns than Ginny remembers. She turns her head, and she catches Ginny’s eye.

And she smiles.

###  **MAY**

The match had been a tight win. If Valmai hadn’t scored that last goal on the last second of the game, it would have been a tie. The players had been neck at neck throughout the game, flirting with fouls half the time, not out of bad spirit but because they were so caught up they almost forgot the rules. The Snitch had been so elusive the match had lasted six hours and after hour four, things started to escalate until the Harpies’ Seeker caught the Snitch. The Caerphilly Catapults had been ruthless, scoring two hundred and thirty points, leaving the Harpies with one hundred and ninety points before the Snitch was caught. Now, the after-party is filled with tension and energy, people from both teams congratulating each other. Everyone is tired and just wants to get pissed. Ginny is impressed. She doesn’t know if she would have been so graceful after that kind of game. But the Catapults are known for being easy-going and not very competitive outside of the game. That doesn’t mean they’re not fierce and skilled, just that they play for the sake of it. Ginny admires that — she’s a sucker for competitiveness, and so is the rest of her team.

“Weasley,” Gwenog calls loudly from the bar where she’s drinking Firewhisky from the bottle. At least _she_ isn’t tense. “Come here for a minute.”

Ginny lifts herself up from the chair she was slouched on and walks towards her Captain. “Yes?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I noticed that you spend a lot of time with that bloke of yours, Blaine or something.”

Ginny frowns. “Blaise.”

Gwenog bats her hand at the air. “Yes, that. And the other one, too, with the tattoos. Maybe you should consider  _slowing_  on that.”

Ginny narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying, the team needs your full attention, Weasley.”

Ginny takes a deep breath. Gwenog is obviously drunk and has left tact at the bottom of the bottle. “I understand, and my focus is exactly where it’s supposed to be, Captain,” Ginny says, her voice tight.

Gwenog smiles. “Good. As long as you know where you stand, we’re good.”

Ginny nods and goes back to her Butterbeer at the team’s table. Leontina, Gretchen, and Johanna are chatting about the Sloth Grip Roll the opposite team’s Seeker did to try to catch the Snitch, but Ginny doesn’t listen. She stares angrily at Georgina who is whispering in Gwenog’s ear, making her giggle. Apparently, Ginny is the only one who is supposed to become a nun for the sake of the team.

“Fuck it,” Ginny mumbles to herself and pulls out her Spellular. She’s never been good at listening to orders.

Fifteen minutes later, Millicent comes into the bar, making all heads turn. Ginny rises and walks proudly to her and kisses her girlfriend silly in front of everyone in the bar. She catches the flash of a photograph and considers briefly casting a Bat-Bogey at the photographer, but Millicent has her tongue down her throat and it’s almost as enjoyable as seeing journalists run screaming, so she keeps her head in the game and kisses her more thoroughly. Once they’re done, they leave the bar, hand in hand, and Ginny pretends not to see Gwenog’s angry look.

Ginny doesn’t care. One day,  _she_  will be the Harpies’ Captain, and no one will be able to tell her what to do.

###  **JUNE**

“How’s Teddy?” Ginny when Harry comes through the Floo from Andromeda’s place. She just lost an eye today and Harry wanted to spend some time with her before he came to the Witching Shack.

Harry smiles a little. “McGonagall lets him come home every weekend to spend as much time as possible with his grandmother. He’s still top of his class and Filch’s nightmare, though. Professor Sprout told me he had his parents’ knack for mischief and was making every girl in his year swoon.”

Ginny gives him a sad smile. “And work?” she tries, hoping that would lighten the mood.

Harry sighs. “Dawlish escaped us again. She killed another Wizengamot member. Hermione feels terribly guilty, but she shouldn't, I'm the one who hasn't caught her yet.”

A heavy silence settles between them, and Ginny decides to cheer Harry up with the only topic that can always get him distracted.

“So,” Ginny says with a smirk. “How is Draco?”

Harry looks away, his cheeks flushing a little. “You tell me. You work with him.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Potter. I know you as if I’d made you.”

Harry leaves back in the sofa and sighs. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says, gesturing towards the Witching Shack’s living room Ginny just redecorated last week. “Is that the Spellevision prototype?”

“Harry,” Ginny growls.

Harry raises his hand in a peace gesture. “Fine, fine. Yes, we’ve been… seeing each other?”

“Are you asking or telling?”

Harry laughs. “I honestly don’t know.”

Ginny crosses her leg on top of the other. “Tell me the whole story.”

Harry frowns. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“First, it’s not new, I’ve been dying to hear it for months. Second, I don’t know, you’ve been strange lately and since you’re Mr Perfect Head Auror and have amazing friends, myself included, I thought you might be having boy problems.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m just kind of lost, you know? He’s been… difficult. I mean, he’s always difficult — it’s endearing somehow — but lately he’s been pulling away from me.”

“Start at the beginning,” Ginny says and starts the tea with a swish of her wand. Harry is going to complain that it doesn’t taste the same when done by magic, but Ginny feels too lazy to get up and do it herself.

Harry sighs. “Fine. After that Christmas he came with Charlie, I started to get curious. Hermione had said he’d changed and Charlie was adamant about his decency. But I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. I told myself then that I was protecting Charlie, but to be honest I just wanted to know for myself.” Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He caught me red-handed as I was going through his OVERCOME file. He was visiting Hermione and Theo, and I thought he was in Romania. He said, ‘Potter, if you want to stalk me, the least you can do is buy me coffee’.” Harry laughs. “Next thing I know, we’re having coffee and scones every other week, and Padma didn’t know about it. I don’t think Charlie knew either, but then I was telling myself that we weren’t doing anything wrong, that we were just friends.” Harry closes his eyes. “It never occurred to me that I might be falling in love with Draco sodding Malfoy.”

Ginny sits up. “Wait,  _love_?”

“Unfortunately. I ended up breaking things with Padma because I couldn’t stop thinking about him and it wasn’t fair to her. She wasn’t surprised, but she did hex off all of my pubic hair.”

Ginny nods. “A woman after my own heart.” She scrunches her nose. “Also, too much information.”

Harry smiles. “I heard she’s with Anthony Goldstein now. She’s happy, or so Daphne tells me.”

“What happened after you broke up with her?”

“It took me another two years to gather the courage to kiss him. By then, we were actually friends. He took me to the pet store he worked in during the OVERCOME program and introduced me to his Muggle friends. That’s when I knew he had truly changed — and that I wanted more. But Draco didn’t want that with anyone, not since he broke up with Charlie in 2006. The bloody git only told me after I admitted splitting up with Padma, one full year later! I should have known then that he shared my… infatuation. Anyway, he’d have flings and one-night stands, and then tell me the gruesome details. He admitted much later that he was trying to make me jealous.”

Ginny raises an eyebrow. “That’s fucked up.”

“I told you — he’s difficult. Anyway, last May, we got tremendously drunk at the Niffler and I kissed him. The next day, he shows up at my door and starts undressing me before I even get to close the door. We’ve been shagging since.”

“What about now? Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Ginny asks.

“I don’t think so. We’re not like you and Blaise. This isn’t an epic love story for the ages, Gin. It’s just me and my ridiculous feelings for a bloke who doesn’t really see me.”

Ginny shakes her head. “I think he sees you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Maybe he’s not in the same place you are yet, but he’s getting there. Give him time.”

“I’ve given him  _years_ , Ginny. I don’t know that I can wait any longer.”

Ginny shrugs. “Maybe you have to decide what matters most, moving on with your life or having a chance with him.”

Harry seems thoughtful for a moment, then smiles. “Thanks, Gin.”

Ginny lets out a deep breath. “And you know, Blaise and I are a far cry from being the item we seem to be. We fight all the time. He has another boyfriend and I have a girlfriend. We’re happy and we’re having fun, but we’re not the perfect couple people make us out to be. We have a lot of problems. We work too much, and we don’t see each other as much as we want to. So I have Millicent, and he has Theo.” She hesitates. “Maybe you could have someone else too.”

Harry runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Gin. I don’t think I could. I’m really into him and I’m the jealous type. I wouldn’t want him do it.”

“How do you know he’s not fooling around?” Ginny asks with a soft smile.

Harry takes his head into his hands. “You’re right. I don’t know.”

Ginny shuffles closer and leans her head on his shoulder. “You two will figure it out eventually.”

Harry kisses the top of her head. “I hope you’re right.”

###  **JULY**

They met after the Wimbourne Wasps fiasco. Ginny didn’t notice because she was busy drinking herself into oblivion over the Harpies’ nasty defeat, the defeat that took them out of the European Cup. Only thirty points. Three goals. Bloody Snitch and its one hundred and fifty points. She can’t even blame Leontina, who was out of the match because of a Bludger hit last week. The reserve Seeker isn’t bad, but she isn’t Leontina. Really, she can only blame herself, and maybe Georgina, just because she can. Eight hundred and forty points, Ginny’s personal record, and still it wasn’t enough because of that cursed golden shite. And since Blaise wasn’t even here, Ginny felt alone and angry, and she woke up the next morning in a stranger’s sheets with a massive headache.

So, no. She hadn’t seen it happen, but she should have. Johanna certainly did. “Love at first sight,” she said. “Fairy tale material,” Gretchen concurred.

She heard Draco tell Blaise over the Floo how they had caught each other’s eye in the middle of the party and spent the whole evening sharing knowing smiles and glancing at each other beneath their eyelashes. She had eventually introduced herself, and then they’d spent the night roaming the streets of Glasgow laughing and talking. Draco said he’d never met someone like her before. At the end of the night, they’d kissed. He’d told her, quite confused, that he wasn’t interested in women, and she’d answered that she wasn’t generally interested in people. They were both even more confused, but something was definitely blooming between them.

In the end, knowing that Draco is falling in love with someone that isn’t Harry is torture to Ginny. She can’t say anything because Draco is her friend too, but knowing how Harry feels, she has the urge to step in and make that girl flee with bats flying out of her nostrils. And Astoria is lovely, of course. She makes Draco laugh and helps him make unguents for the team. She’s smart, funny, and with just the right amount of sarcasm. Ginny hates herself for liking her so much.

But what is she supposed to do? She has enough to do with her own mess of relationships. Millicent is growing restless and urging Ginny to spend more time with her, and Blaise is doing the exact same thing — except he has the support of Ginny’s mum. Ginny doesn’t want to deal with anyone’s relationship right now, she just wants to fucking play Quidditch and win the Cup. And that’s the only thing she can’t have, because of three bloody goals she didn’t score.

Ginny pours herself another drink.

###  **AUGUST**

After a few weeks of wallowing, Ginny pulls herself together. Maybe this year wasn’t  _the_  year. That’s all right. She’ll get there next time. In the meantime, there’s the British and Irish Quidditch League Cup next year. She doesn’t have to give up on her dreams, only adjust her goals. She takes a deep breath and gets her head back in the game — the European Cup final match.

Ginny stands on her tip toes and screams her lungs out. The Montrose Magpies have to win, the Vratsa Vultures can’t take the cup from the United Kingdom again. If it can’t be Harpies, Ginny is willing to cheer for the competition and wear the Magpies’ colours for the night. She watches Alasdair Maddock, their first Chaser, score a goal and screams with glee. Blaise's arm against her waist is a warm and comforting presence, and she leans into it. From the corner of her eye, she can see Draco whispering sweet nothings in Harry's ear. They look at each other with stars in their eyes, but Ginny knows Draco has dinner with Astoria every other night. He's drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and he has no idea why. "She's everything I've spent the past ten years running from, and yet…," he once told her. Ginny doesn’t know what to think, but she has made up her mind not to meddle. Nothing good ever comes from meddling in someone else’s romantic affairs.

The Vultures score and Ginny boos. She wishes she was down there, feeling the rush of the wind on her face, throwing the Quaffle like her life depends on it. In three years, she promises herself, in three years she'll take the European Cup home and in four, make it to the United Kingdom World Cup's team. Even though her team lost, Ginny's stats for this season are flawless. She's in the top thirty players of the year. She has to do better in the following years, but it's doable. She knows she will. She always had to work for what she wanted. Life never gifted her with anything. So Ginny took it, and each time the conclusion is the same: it's never enough. Never enough for her dreams. One day, she'll be the most successful player in the world, and she'll never stop until she is a legend.

Suddenly, Lennox Campbell catches the Snitch and Ginny almost falls over the fence in excitement. The United Kingdom won the European Quidditch Cup, and as she watches the crowd cheer, Ginny knows in her heart that she’ll earn those cheers for herself one day.

###  **SEPTEMBER**

“Ginny, wake up.”

Ginny groans and shuffles under the covers. “My wand hasn’t rung yet…”

“Ginny. Please.”

She opens her eyes in a rush. Blaise sounds distraught in a way that is anything but normal. “What is it,” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

Blaise’s eyes are red and puffy, and Ginny knows he waited for the tears to stop before he woke up her. “It’s Draco. The Manor burned down.”

“Fuck,” Ginny swears and jumps out of bed. She grabs a sweater and a pair of joggers, ties her hair in a bun with a swish of her wand, and Summons her shoes in less than a minute. “Where is he? Let’s go.” Ginny doesn’t dare ask if he’s okay. She has to believe he is safe and sound even if the Manor isn’t. It’s hard to feel sorry for the loss of Malfoy Manor because Ginny hates that place, but she loves Draco, and Draco loves the Manor.

Blaise and Ginny Floo to Grimmauld Place and rush to the living room where all their friends are sitting around Draco, who is bent in two, his head in one hand, the other intertwined with Harry’s own. His robes are singed, and he has soot on his cheeks. Pansy is knelt at the foot of Draco’s armchair, Hermione is sat on one armrest and Harry on the other, holding Draco’s hand like a lifeline. Theo is bringing tea from the kitchen, while Ron makes sandwiches for everyone. Ginny doesn’t even care that Draco looks like shite, at least he’s breathing and isn’t in St Mungo’s. She’s seen too many loved ones die, and she refuses to lose anyone else.

“What happened?” Ginny whispers to Theo as he walks past.

“It’s those extreme anti-prisoners’ rights activists. They burnt down the Manor. Lucius…” Theo shakes his head. “He didn’t make it.”

The Floo roars, letting out Gregory, Millicent, Terrence Higgs and the Greengrass sisters. Blaise leaves Ginny’s side to go and hug them, quietly explaining the situation. Millicent comes to hug Ginny, and she relishes her warm and comforting embrace.

“Draco,” Astoria whispers, and Ginny watches Draco let go of Harry’s hand and get up to take Astoria into his arms. Harry’s face falls, and he hugs himself tightly. Hermione squeezes his shoulder, but Harry still looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked.

“I can’t believe he’s dead. I have to tell Mother,” Draco rambles.

“I’ll take care of it,” Astoria says soothingly, stroking Draco’s hair. He bends his head and lets his forehead rest against Astoria’s own. Harry looks away and closes his eyes.

“I’ve lost everything,” Draco whispers. “Fuck,” he says and starts sobbing, holding Astoria close to him.

Ginny looks for Blaise, but he’s holding Theo. So she takes Millicent’s hand and squeezes tightly. Between the war reparations, the loss of the Manor, and health care for Narcissa’s brain cancer in France, Draco will have nothing left in a few months but his job with the Harpies and his friends. It’s more than most, Ginny thinks, but it’s going to be tough for Draco. She doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take it, especially when he risks losing his mother as well.

At least, he has people who love him and who would do anything for him.

###  **OCTOBER**

“And here we are again,” Ginny says, rolling in the sheets to face Harry.

He laughs. “I can’t believe it either. You know, I was starting to think that I would spend my life with Draco. And then Greengrass showed up and fucked it up for me.”

Ginny runs a hand through her hair. “I’m still confused about all of this.”

“So am I,” Harry sighs. “Why did you and Blaise break up this time? You didn’t tell me when you showed up and started to undress me after only two glasses of Firewhisky.”

Ginny hoists herself up on her elbows. “Are you calling me easy?”

“I’m saying you were upset,” Harry says with a soft smile. “What happened?”

Ginny lets herself fall back on the bed. “The usual. He threw a tantrum about Millicent—which is hypocritical because he has Theo—and told me  _we_  were supposed to be the main relationship, not me and her.” She sighs. “We yelled a bit more, I told him it was over, he said that was fine with him and he Disapparated. We’ll be back together in a week, like usual.”

“So how did you end up at my place?” Harry asks.

“I knew you were feeling down and I wanted to forget about my love problems for a while with someone I trust. And I knew you could use a good time too.”

Harry laughs again. “That, I could.”

Ginny yawns. “Breakfast at mine? I have gingerbread and you only have weird crackers.”

“Gingerbread sounds perfect.”

They get out of the bed and jump into some clothes before they Floo to the Witching Shack. Ginny makes eggs, bacon, and gingerbread while Harry makes tea. They have just started eating when the door bursts open, letting in a distraught Blaise holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Ginny, look I’m sorry I— What he is doing here?”

Ginny sighs. “Fuck. Harry, can you go please?”

Harry grabs a piece of gingerbread, and stuffs another between his teeth. “Sure.” He walks past Blaise and makes an awkward hand gesture. “Hi Blaise.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Blaise says amiably.

Harry shrugs and Ginny hears a muffled whisper of “Well, fuck you too,” on his way to the Floo.

Blaise snorts. “I can’t believe I came here to apologise! I spent the night pacing and talking it out, and you were—”

Ginny laughs. “Remind me with whom you were talking this out?”

Blaise narrows his eyes. “Theo has nothing to do with this.”

Oh, that one is rich. “You mean that you get to fuck your side piece to feel better, but I can’t?”

“Not with your ex-boyfriend!”

“Theo  _is_  your ex-boyfriend!”

“It’s different!”

“What, because you’re a man and I’m not?”

“Because I’m only seeing men on the side!”

“You’re not okay with me seeing Millicent, and you’re not okay with me having a one-off with Harry. Who am I supposed to date when you’re off gallivanting with Theo?”

“What do you need them for when you have me?”

“Well, maybe you’re not man enough for me,” Ginny yells.

“Maybe  _you_ ’re not man enough for me,” Blaise spits out.

Ginny freezes. She can see Blaise regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth, but it’s too late. He said them.

“Get out,” Ginny says very quietly.

“Gin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” Blaise pleads.

“I don’t care,” she says, cold. “Please leave, and never come back.”

“You are a woman to me, I swear, I was just angry and—”

Ginny stops him with a raised hand. “I’m a woman, period. And I know exactly what you meant. I don’t care that you don’t believe a word of it, you said it to hurt me. Congratulations, it worked. Now go, unless you want a taste of my Bat-Bogey Hex.”

As soon as Blaise closes the door, Ginny collapses on the floor, shaking with violent sobs. She wishes she could cut her heart out just to make it stop. She Summons her Spellular and dials the number of the Burrow. “Mum? Can you come please?” she asks between sobs. “I need you,” she adds in a small voice, still curled up on the carpet.

“I’m on my way,” Ginny’s mum says, and Ginny finally feels like a weight has been taken off her chest. Her mum is coming, and she’s going to make it all better. She always does.

Every step of her fight comes back to her in a flash. The day she came out to her mother when she was six. She had taken her into her arms and told Ginny that she had always wanted a daughter. Her father had quietly kissed her on the top of her head and hugged her. It had been a bit more complicated with her brothers, especially Percy and Ron, but by the next year, everyone called her Ginny and used the right pronouns. She remembers the day she started taking Magical Hormones, so she could grow into the kind of woman she wanted to be, how proud and relieved she had felt. She remembers the day she’d properly met Harry and he asked Ron, “Is this your sister?”, starting a long and desperate infatuation that eventually became great friendship. She remembers the day she went to Hogwarts, was welcomed into the girls’ dormitory and no one disputed her right to be there. She remembers the day she first had sex with Harry. Her first time with Millicent. Her first time with Blaise. She thought she’d found the man she’d spend her life with, if maybe off and on. And then he betrayed her in the lowest and most despicable way he possibly could have.

Ginny doesn’t think she’ll ever forgive him for that.

###  **NOVEMBER**

Ginny takes a sip of her champagne glass. The Greengrass Mansion has been fully decorated for the engagement party. The future bride is gorgeous in a deep green dress, her hair pulled into a gorgeous braided bun. She looks so happy in her fiancé’s arms, and they seem to have escape from a fairy tale as they dance together on the marbled floor.

“I told you Daphne would propose by the end of the year,” Harry says to Ron, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I know, I’ll pay you when we get back,” he answers grudgingly. “They look beautiful,” Ron adds and smothers a sniffle. He always gets weepy at engagements and weddings.

Ginny laughs. “You’re such a sap!”

“Shut up,” Ron grumbles. “I’m going to find Hermione.”

“Don’t dirty her dress with your snot, you big baby,” Ginny calls as Ron walks away, giving her the finger. “How are you?” She asks Harry when Ron is out of hearing-range.

Harry sighs. “I’m… I don’t know. Have you seen him yet?” Ginny shakes her head. “Yeah, me either. He’s going to be there, isn’t he? With  _her_.”

“It’s his friend’s engagement party and she’s her sister. Of course he’ll be there,” Ginny says without mercy. “You need to get over yourself, Harry. You can’t spend your life pining after him. It’s done. Get on with your life, okay?”

Harry gives out a bitter laugh. “I know you’re right, but I’m not there yet. Give me time.”

Ginny sighs and hugs him. “I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”

“At least we’re going through this together,” Harry says with a half-smile. Ginny nods. She hasn’t seen Blaise yet, and she doesn’t know if she wants to hex him or just see him wallowing in self-pity — or have him grovel and ask her to take him back. She hopes she doesn’t see him at all, so she doesn’t have to choose.

“Is that Padma?” Harry asks. “Merlin, she looks gorgeous.”

“Anthony isn’t bad either. Oh, fuck. Is that Michael Corner with Tracey Davis?”

Harry laughs. “Did all our exes decide to come and flaunt their happiness?”

“Yes, because we’re the centre of the world and they did it just to spite us,” Ginny answers with a smirk.

“My thought exactly,” Harry concurs, and they burst out laughing.

That’s when Draco and Astoria come into the ballroom. Draco looks smart in a wizarding suit with his black trousers and shirt, green waistcoat and robes, his hair pulled back smoothly, clearing his face. Astoria wears a dark blue empire strapless dress with a long-sleeved white robe, her hair flowing down her shoulders. They look—

“They look ridiculous,” Harry says.

Ginny thinks that it’s a way of seeing it, albeit the wrong one. “Yeah, ridiculous,” Ginny concurs because she’s a good friend.

Draco and Astoria start to dance as well, and it’s quite a sight. “I can’t watch this,” Harry says, voice tight, and turns away as he drinks down his champagne.

The night goes on with Harry sending alternatively forlorn and spiteful looks at Draco, while Ginny keeps searching the room for Blaise, with no success. She dances with Harry a few times, but he’s so distracted by Draco that he keeps stepping on her feet.

Eventually, Draco leaves Astoria to smoke on the balcony, and Harry follows him. Ginny observes them from afar and decides to join them when the discussion start to look heated.

“But you’re gay!” Harry shouts. Ginny, hidden by a curtain, casts a Notice-Me-Not and a Silencing Spell on their area.

“You can have a sexual crisis on my behalf if you want to,” Draco answers dryly. “All I know is that I’m in love with Astoria regardless of her gender. It doesn’t mean I’m not gay anymore, just that I fell in love with her despite her being a woman.”

Harry snorts. “How can you even have sex with her? I know what you’re like, she can’t possibly satisfy you,” he spits out. “Not like I do.” Ginny wants to smack him.

“Not that it is any of your business, but Astoria is asexual, and our relationship is purely platonic. I’ll have you know that sex isn’t everything in a relationship—well, at least in my relationship with Astoria. I can’t say the same about  _ours_.”

“I seem to recall that you liked the sex just fine when you were on your knees for me!” Harry takes a step closer to Draco. “Don’t you miss it? The heat, the lo—lust.” Harry starts to whisper, and Ginny is too far to discern his words, but she  _does_  hear Draco let out a small moan, then a grunt. He pushes Harry away.

“I don’t want this anymore,” Draco says, his voice shaking with anger.

“Well, fuck you too!” Harry shouts, his face twisted in fury and hurt.

“No, thank you,” Draco says quietly, and that’s a low blow, even if Harry sort of deserved it, Ginny thinks. Draco leaves and doesn’t notice Ginny as he walks back to Astoria.

Ginny comes out of her hiding spot and joins Harry on the balcony.

“What have I done?” He asks Ginny, tears flowing down his face.

Ginny doesn’t answer and takes him into her arms.

###  **DECEMBER**

The European Cup is lost, but next year is the new British and Irish League. No peace for the wicked. Gwenog has been drilling the team like a woman on a mission for weeks now, and she doesn’t care that it’s so cold Ginny’s teeth are chattering constantly. At least Draco has managed to convince Gwenog to take a week off and bring the team to a special French facility that specialises in sports care. The girls and Draco are going to be dolled up for five days and have drinks and fun at night. The perfect team-building exercise and well-earned rest the team needs before they start a new season — the last one with Draco.

He and Astoria are planning to move in together soon, and Draco doesn’t want to spend half the year roaming the country with the Harpies when he could be home with her. Ginny respects that, even though she wishes he would have done that for Harry instead of Astoria.

“She’s the woman of my life and I want to spend as much time as I can with her,” he tells Ginny when they’re having drinks at the Niffler that night after Blaise tried and failed to convince Ginny to take him back.

Ginny loves him, she does, but some things just cannot be forgiven. Maybe one day they can be friends, but she doubts she’ll ever let him in the way she used to. She sighs to herself. Life is full of surprises and no one knows what’s in store for them, but that’s not a thought she’s ready to entertain so soon. Her heart still burns with too much anger to fathom anything with Blaise. Words matter, even when they’re spoken out of bitterness and not completely true. They always hold some truth, and that’s what Ginny can’t forgive.

So she focuses on Draco’s story about Astoria convincing him to dance with her in the street at the sound of a Muggle guitar. He laughs, a clear, soft, laugh, something she never heard from him before, a laugh that almost makes her forget the grief in his features. The grief of losing Harry.

Sometimes, Ginny wonders if Draco and Harry could have been together if Draco had not met Astoria. After all, Draco could dance in the streets with Harry too, and Harry wouldn’t have to cry himself to sleep every other night after he drank too much Firewhisky.

She likes to imagine a world where she and Blaise could be together and go someplace nice with Harry and Draco. A world where the Harpies would have won the Cup, and Ginny wouldn’t have to split herself between her friends. A world where she wouldn’t have to helplessly watch two people who deeply care about each other tear themselves apart. It’s nice to think about it, and it helps her sleep at night, when she misses Blaise’s warmth besides her. She knows she’s projecting on Draco and Harry, Hermione told her enough times that she can’t forget it, but she can’t think too much on what Blaise said to her. It just hurts too much. It’s easier to worry about her friends’ future than to think of her own, because how is her life going to look like without Blaise in it? He took so much of her time and thoughts, and now she just has to live without him.

But Blaise has made his choice, and so has Draco, and though she listens with a fond smile and tries to be happy for him, Ginny can’t help but wonder why Draco specified Astoria was the  _woman_  of his life.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but she pays attention to these sorts of things, she’s careful. And she knows Draco is too, so she hopes.

She hopes that one day, Harry and Draco may find their happiness together, even if she never finds it with Blaise.


	4. Easy Come Easy Gone (2015)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comes back to open a shop in London after a few years spent in France raising Scorpius. His parents are dead, his wife is dead, and Draco has had enough of losing people. So even if Harry wouldn’t mind taking another chance on them, Draco is not sure he can take another loss.

#  **EASY COME EASY GONE**

* * *

###  **JANUARY**

“Do you want to carry your bag by yourself?” Draco asks his son after pushing open the door to Draco’s new shop down Carkitt Market. Their upstairs flat is small but cosy and it’s enough for the both of them. It’s not much, but Draco has made it a home.

Scorpius looks at him with his big curious grey eyes. “Yes!” he says, and it sounds like an excited hiss. Draco hands him the Shrunk bag with Scorpius’ toys and watches him trot up the stairs with a soft smile. The stairs look dangerous, but Draco isn’t worried. He set up Cushioning Charms on every inch of the house and shop before he brought Scorpius in. His son could fall from the first-floor window and still not hurt himself.

Draco pales at the thought. He’s still not letting him close to any windows.

After Draco’s father’s murder and the loss of the Manor, Draco hadn’t had much left. Then Astoria had died, and Draco and Scorpius had gone to France to take care of Draco’s mother. The cancer finished draining Draco’s finances, and he still had a child to provide for. With the little that was left, Draco had decided to come back from France and buy the old Apothecary shop in Carkitt Market and the flat that came with it. The owner had wanted to sell for years and Draco managed to get a discount because of the state of the flat. He and Blaise had spent weeks making it habitable while Greg took care of Scorpius.

Draco likes having his friend’s bakery barely a three-minute walk away. Bliss Bakers is set next to the Hopping Pot and Gringotts Money Exchange, and close to the Owl Post Office and the Carkitt Market Apparition Point, while Draco’s shop is next to Cogg and Bell Clockmakers, right across the Nifty Niffler, Stowe & Parker Magical Bags and Concordia Plunkett Musical Instruments. The Busy Pumpkin office is not far either, at the border between Carkitt and Diagon, and the Bonding Association where Theo still works is in Carkitt as well. In the end, Carkitt already feels like home in a way that the wizarding world hasn’t in a long time, and Draco is glad to bring his son back to something he can grow to call his home too.

Suddenly, there’s a thud and a cry.

“Scorpius?” Draco calls, rushing up the stairs. He bursts in the flat, eyes wide and worry twisting his stomach, and finds Scorpius trying to put back Draco’s favourite Potions book up on the table even though he can’t hope to reach it. Draco sighs in relief and scoops up both his child and the book. “Are you all right?” he asks, rubbing his nose against Scorpius’ own.

“Sorry,” Scorpius says sheepishly. “Just wanted a story.” Scorpius looks at his father with hopeful eyes.

Draco laughs. “I promise I’ll read you one after we’re settled. Why don’t you go and put your toys in your room in the meantime?”

Scorpius pouts. “But I want to stay with you.”

Draco bites his bottom lip. He just can’t resist his son.

“Okay,” Draco says and Enlarges Scorpius’ bag. “Go put your bag in your room and you can pick three things in it to play with here while I unpack. Deal?”

Scorpius’ face lights up. “Deal!” he says and runs to the room he had picked when he and Draco had gone to check out the re-furnished flat when the renovation was done. He comes back with a dragon plush gifted by Charlie when he came to see them last year, a Quidditch-themed wizarding colouring book where the pictures move once you’re done from Ginny for Scorpius’ second birthday, and Scorpius’ favourite book, the  _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , an illustrated edition specially ordered by Hermione. Scorpius flops down heavily on the carpet of the living room and starts colouring, settled on his belly, once in a while checking with his dragon if the colours are right. Draco feels his heart swell at the sight. He wishes he could stand there and watch him, but he has things to do.

He takes out his wand and starts sending things where they belong. Plates and bowls go in the kitchen shelves with the apparent bricks on the walls; linens and clothes go in Draco’s bedroom, a simple room with just a desk, a bed, and a large closet. He casts a few spells to put together Scorpius’ room with his toys and clothes and makes the bed swiftly because he knows Scorpius will be sleepy in less than an hour. The room is furnished simply. Draco doesn’t have much and most of Scorpius’ toys are gifts, but Draco knows it’s a beautiful bedroom for a child, even if it’s nothing like the one he grew up in. There are animals and flowers on the walls—Draco especially likes the cat that purrs next to Scorpius’ bed and the blooming narcissus near the window. There’s a big cupboard and a little armchair next to the desk, and the floor is covered in carpets because Scorpius likes to play on his belly and Draco doesn’t want him to get cold.

After an hour, as Draco had foreseen, Scorpius yawns and asks for his story. Draco picks him up and puts him to bed. He reads him a Tale and teaches Scorpius how to pet the cat on the wall. “Can I get a real one when I’m older?” he asks, fascinated with the purring creature.

“When you get into Hogwarts, I’ll get you a Kneazle,” Draco promises, thinking he should start to put money aside for it since magical creatures always cost more than Muggle ones. Of course, Draco could always get a regular cat for his son, but he had always dreamed of having one himself and his father had never agreed. He wants everything for Scorpius, especially what he never got. Draco had been the luckiest child until he was fourteen, and then it all turned to shite. Draco wants Scorpius to live a ridiculously normal and uneventful childhood and to move on to even more boring teenage years.

He already lost his mother and grandmother, Draco doesn’t want his son to lose anyone else.

###  **FEBRUARY**

“Say hello, sweetheart,” Hermione says when Hugo hides behind her, and Draco can’t help but feel a bit offended. He’s not  _that_  scary. Sure, he’s tall and doesn’t smile much, and his face is too angular, and his eyebrows always make him look like he’s frowning… All right, he might be a little scary to a six-year-old.

“Hi, Hugo,” Draco says, trying for a kid-voice and ending up sounding like a bloody creep. Honestly, Draco is terrible with children who are not Scorpius.

Rose rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby,” she tells her brother.

“Rose!” Hermione chides. “I’m sorry Draco, they’ve been like this since they left Ron’s.”

Ron and Hermione had separated—again—a year and a half earlier, leaving Hermione to be a single mother while also working as the Minister for Magic’s Senior Undersecretary. Fortunately, Ronald takes the kids half the time, and Hermione is a master multitasker, but still, she’s basically leading the wizarding world while raising two brats. Draco’s impressed.

“Don’t worry, Scorpius has his moments too,” Draco says. He’s lying of course; Scorpius is perfect. Even when he throws a tantrum and  _demands_  ice cream at Fortescue’s in the middle of rush hour, he does it with style and Malfoy flair. Draco is very proud of his son, even when he sort of wants to hang him by his feet and be done with him. Draco sighs. Okay, Scorpius isn’t perfect, and raising a child on his own is not an easy ride. But still.

“Where is he, by the way?” Hermione asks.

Draco gives her a sad smile. “With his aunt. Daphne and Terrence are still struggling with getting pregnant, so they’re always happy to look after Scorpius.” Hermione nods and squeezes his arm affectionately. Draco refrains from pulling away. He hates the pitying looks everyone always cast on him when he mentions something remotely related to the death of his wife.

Rose looks intently at the sign on the wooden counter that says  _The Wyvern: Apothecary, Healer, Herbalist and Trinkets_ , with a magical painting of a moving wyvern behind it.

“Funny. Is it meant to be called  _TWAT_?”

Hermione’s eyes bulge alarmingly. “No, it is  _not_.”

Rose smirks. “Thought so.” Bloody Weasley spawn, Draco thinks, looking at his sign as if he were seeing it for the first time. Luckily, everyone seems to be calling the shop  _The Wyvern_  and there will be no more talk of horrible slur-material acronyms for his good establishment.

“You’re my favourite niece, you know that?” Ginny whispers to Rose, and Draco wonders why he invited them all in the first place. “The Harpies say hello,” Ginny says. “So does Harry,” she adds when Hermione takes the children out in the little back garden where Draco makes his plants grow. “Have you seen him yet?”

Draco sighs, and puts his hands on the counter, leaning on them. “I don’t want to see him,” Draco eventually answers, looking up from his hands and into Ginny’s eyes.

“If you say so,” she says with a shrug. “I know he does.”

Draco crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t care.”

It’s no use, though. Ginny raises an eyebrow and joins Hermione in the garden without a word, knowing she doesn’t need to say more: they both know Draco is lying.

###  **MARCH**

Draco hates March. It’s a terrible month. It’s cold and rainy one minute, the sun is out the next, all his allergies are making him feel itchy, and his skin looks blotchy. But mostly, it’s the anniversary of Astoria’s death and Scorpius’ birthday, and Draco has to fake happiness for his son because that’s what Astoria would have wanted.

So Draco tries to remember the good times with her. How they got married less than a year after they met because they couldn’t wait to start a life together. How their love didn’t make sense to anyone, including them, because it wasn’t what they expected to want in life. In the end, they didn’t care because having each other was all that mattered. Astoria wanted to have kids, and Draco wanted Astoria to be happy. The pregnancy had been a worrying time for Draco, who feared for Astoria’s health, but she had glowed. They’d spent nights up talking about names and plans, and Astoria would eat pickles and complain about gas and they would laugh and huddle close under the covers to share their warmth. He remembers her in the summer, her hair flowing in the wind, her feet in the sea, and a bright smile on her face.

Draco hadn’t even missed sex for these blissful twenty months. Astoria was all he wanted, she made him feel strong and beautiful, pure and worthy in a way no one had ever managed to, even Harry who had tried so hard. He had been the symbol of Draco’s past while Astoria was a clean slate, a chance for real happiness. No matter how much he had cared for Harry, Astoria was exactly what he yearned for.

And then Scorpius was born, and Astoria died. It had been the worst night of Draco’s life. For days, no, weeks, he had refused to touch his son. His friends had had to pull him off Astoria’s body and take care of Scorpius when Draco wouldn’t leave his room, crying over photographs and letters. Astoria and Draco used to write to each other every day at work, because they couldn’t bear to be apart. She was his best friend in the world, and Draco would never recover from losing her. Eventually, Pansy brought Hermione and Ginny to Draco and Astoria’s flat, and Draco had had a breakdown, blaming himself for getting Astoria pregnant and causing her death. When he admitted he wasn’t sure he could love his own son, Hermione forced him to go into therapy. After three more weeks and a combination of therapy, Muggle meds, and wizarding potions, Draco finally started to bond with Scorpius.

Two months after Astoria’s death, Draco had decided to leave the country and go live with his mother in France, needing a fresh start away from what his life could have been. He had vowed to be a better father and dedicate his life to his son, if only to make up for his initial negligence towards Scorpius and for being responsible for the death of his son’s mother.

In France, Draco had struggled with money and raising his son while taking care of his own mother. Eventually, he had found his way into an apothecary shop. When his mother had died six months ago, he had decided to take a loan and use what was left of his inheritance to come back to the UK and start his own shop.

So when Harry Potter himself comes into the Wyvern sporting his signature awkward smile and unruly hair, Draco isn’t in the mood to welcome him back into his life.

“Hello, Draco,” Harry says sheepishly.

“Hello,” Draco answers, cold.

“Hermione told me you set up shop in Carkitt,” he starts. Of course she did, why else would Harry be there? “It’s nice. I like the colours.”

“You hate forest green,” Draco deadpans. “Please, stop trying to make small talk, you’re terrible at it,” he continues, even though that’s not true. “Do you need anything?”

Harry looks a bit hurt, and Draco tries his best to ignore it. All he wants is to wallow in self-pity and grieve in peace, not betray his dead wife with a man he never completely forgot.

“I actually wanted to ask you to have drinks with me,” Harry tries with a goofy smile, and Draco ignores the warmth in his chest. Harry looks at his feet. “It’s been a while. I wanted to reach out when I heard but… You were out of the country before I could do anything.”

The warmth disappears as fast as it came. “I wouldn’t have wanted to see you.”

Harry smiles sadly. “I deserve that,” he says. “But I still want to have drinks with you. Catch up. We haven’t seen each other in almost five years.”

“I have a shop to run and a son to raise, Potter. I don’t have time to catch up with you,” Draco says. “Now, if you don’t need anything, please leave. You’re scaring customers away.”

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You’ve always been so difficult,” he says and smiles lightly. “I still like it.” Draco’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. What could he say, really? That man has lost his gobstones, for sure. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy,” Harry calls as he exits the Wyvern and walks away, a strange smile on his face.

Draco pulls out his wand and flicks the sign to  _Closed_. He lets himself slide down the wall and curl up behind the counter like a child, embracing his knees with his outstretched arms. “Fuck,” he whispers to himself, burying his face into his arms, as if that would prevent his feelings from coming out and messing up his life.

###  **APRIL**

Of course, Harry doesn’t take no for an answer. If Draco has  _allegedly_  always been difficult, Harry is  _definitely_  the most stubborn prat on Earth.

Harry takes to coming by the Wyvern every other day. He stops with coffee, scones, and inane stories about his endless string of Weasley relatives and slightly less inane stories about work, especially about Helen Dawlish, the rogue killer Harry has been chasing for years. Apparently, she's still on the loose. Then he goes back to his family: Percy and Audrey have finally tied the knot and are now the proud parents of two little girls; George and Angelina just got pregnant and the betting pool on the gender is running wild in the family to Hermione’s dismay; William and Fleur struggle with their two teenage girls while dealing with the teething of their last kid — another carbon copy of Fleur’s pretty face. Sometimes he rambles about ‘Teddy’, the absurd nickname everyone seems to call Draco’s first cousin once removed, Edward. Apparently, Draco’s aunt, Andromeda, had died from the Vanishing Sickness two years back, and when he wasn’t at Hogwarts, Teddy lived with Harry, and otherwise wrote to his godfather every week.

“You are obsessed with children,” Draco complains at some point. If Draco must suffer through the Weasley tell-all, at least he’d like some variety, a bit of drama or flair. Anything but more toddlers, rings, and wombs.

Harry perks up and Draco curses himself. He’d made a promise to himself not to encourage him, but after weeks of nagging, even Draco can’t help but say  _something_! “I guess I am,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. “I just always wanted my own family.” He looks forlornly at his feet. “Teddy is like a son to me, I actually adopted him when he turned fifteen. I just don’t want him to see me as a single parent forever.”

Draco sighs and stops pretending to label jars behind the counter. “Relationships are overrated,” he says, giving Harry a stern look. “And what’s your problem with single parents? Both Hermione and I are doing just fine. Don’t blame your shortcomings on single parenting.”

Harry raises his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know I didn’t.” Harry sighs. “Actually, I think you know exactly what I meant by that.”

Draco presses his lips together and stares at Harry with an impassive face. “I did,” he admits, then looks away and goes back to his labelling. “I have work to do,” Draco says without looking up. Harry sighs and starts to walk away. Draco closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “See you tomorrow,” he calls, and Harry turns back sharply, sporting a wide smile.

“See you tomorrow,” Harry says and leaves, looking like the Kneazle that got the cream.

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. He’s a lost cause, really.

 

_Art by Purpleflower_

 

###  **MAY**

“To another year without noseless bastards!” Blaise bellows, raising his drink. He’s already quite tipsy, as Blaise’s conception of helping set up the shop for their private end of the war celebration consisted of drinking Icevodka martinis while commenting rudely on everything Draco did.

Since none of them are ever invited to the Battle of Hogwarts anniversary and they wouldn’t have gone anyway if they were, Draco and his friends had decided to celebrate their own freedom at the Wyvern.

Millicent came with Polly, her ‘main girlfriend’ as she calls her, and a crate of Ink Wine, their own creation. Apparently, when one drinks it, they get temporary tattoos all over their body, and the more one drinks, the longer they stick. Draco isn’t coming near it with a ten-foot broomstick. Greg brought a handful of his new star item, the Lightning Bolt, which is basically a lemon eclair shaped to look like Harry’s scar. Draco isn’t eating that either.

Daphne and Terrence didn’t come because unlike Draco, they aren’t  _persona non-grata_  when it comes to fancy wizarding celebrations. Seventeen years after the war, and the upper wizarding society still hasn’t moved on, despite all of Hermione’s efforts. Well, Theo has been invited because of Bonding, but he declined because of the hypocrisy of it all. “I’d rather be with my friends,” he’d said.

Scorpius and Marnie, Pansy’s four-year-old daughter, are staying with Pansy’s French boyfriend for the night, which leaves Draco free to get tremendously drunk and forget all about inappropriate crushes and dead wives.

So, obviously, after four and a half drinks of Ink Wine and two Lightning Bolts, all Draco can talk about is just that.

“It’s just that he keeps coming here,” Draco complains, his words slurred. “Showing his pretty, pretty, stupid face and telling me about how he’s lonely and alone.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Pansy whispers to Blaise, who just shrugs.

“Shh. Draco’s talking,” Greg chides, his eyes unfocused.

“His hair is so smooth,” Draco continues, scratching his neck. “But he doesn’t know how to use a comb.”

“Ah! Greg has a pig on his nose!”

Draco nods. “And his eyes are so green. Astoria had blue eyes. Pretty too.”

“I feel like I’m in sixth year again,” Pansy complains, then looks at her hand. “Oh, a butterfly.”

“And I can’t just take him back, you know? What would I tell Scour— Scop— my son?”

“Shut up, Draco,” Blaise says with a yawn. “Astoria would want you to be happy. We all want you to be happy.”

“But mostly, we want you to shut up about Potter,” Millicent says.

“The snake on my Dark Mark just winked at me,” Draco observes, confused. “What was in those Lightning Bolts Greg?”

“Bit of wormwood,” Greg smiles.

“Honestly, Greg!”

“Oh my Merlin.”

“Brilliant!” Millicent says and takes another Bolt.

There’s a creak and a ringing sound. Draco raises an eyebrow and squints. “Greg, those are really strong, because I can see Harry Potter standing in my shop.”

“I can see him too,” Pansy whispers.

Blaise takes a Lightning Bolt and throws it at Imaginary Harry’s face. When the cream starts to slowly flow down his cheek and chin, there’s an awkward silence. “I think it’s the real one,” Blaise yell-whispers.

“What a warm welcome,” not-so-imaginary Harry says and wipes the cream out of his face, and oh, does Draco wants to do other things.

Draco clears his throat and frowns, hoping he didn’t say that out loud. “What do we owe the pleasure?” Draco manages, slurring only every other word.

Harry shows off a plastic bag filled with cakes and stuff. “I came to bring you a bit of the party, but I see that you’re already having…” He looks suspiciously at the Lightning Bolts. “Fun.”

“We are, thank you very much,” Draco says and gets up to stroke Harry’s hair. “Ha! Told you,” he says to his friends. “Very smooth hair.”

Harry stares at him with an indulgent look, and if Draco didn’t know better, he’d even say Harry looked smitten.

“I don’t look smitten!” Harry says, his cheeks reddening alarmingly.

Ah. Apparently, Draco has said this one aloud.

“Yes! And you keep doing it!” Harry cries, but he’s smiling now.

Such a pretty smile, and gorgeous green eyes. There’s a bit of cream on his chin, and Draco would very much like to lick it off.

Harry rubs his chin. “Er, thank you, I guess.” He scratches his head. “Look, I’ll stop by tomorrow. You’re obviously… out of it.” Harry comes into Draco’s space and whispers in his ear. “You look gorgeous too.”

“Th—Thanks,” Draco splutters and watches, bereft, as Harry winks at him and Disapparates. Draco turns to his friends, shaking his head in dismay. “I’m so fucked,” he admits, and everyone starts to laugh.

###  **JUNE**

“Happy birthday,” Harry says holding out a box wrapped in gold paper.

Draco stops pulling out potions from a crate he just received. “You didn’t have to.”

Harry smiles. “I know. I wanted to.” He puts the box on the counter and slides it towards Draco.

Draco sighs and takes it. He carefully unwraps the box, glancing discreetly at Harry, who looks like he’s this close to bouncing. Draco opens the box and reveals a ring made of a snake and griffin facing each other. “That’s…” Draco clears his throat. “Positively cheesy.” He bursts out laughing. “Merlin, Harry, this is ridiculous. Do you really think I’m going to wear this? Have you met me?”

Draco looks at Harry, expecting him to pout or make a sad puppy face. But Harry is grinning from one ear to the other. “I know you secretly like ridiculous things. I’ve seen your bedroom, and your collectibles.” Draco can’t help but grin. He does love cheesy and over-the-top paraphernalia. That’s what happen when you grow up in a house with peacocks in the garden and dragon statues on the front door, and too much time to explore a centuries-old mansion. “You love ridiculous things,” Harry begins. “And I love  _you_.”

Draco drops the ring in surprise. He kneels to retrieve it and takes too much time coming back up, hoping the red on his cheeks will have faded.

“Harry, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Harry says, putting his hand over Draco’s. “I just need you to know that I want more with you. The rest… It’s up to you.”

He kisses Draco’s cheek over the counter and leaves with a goofy smile.

Draco indulges himself and lets his fingers stroke lightly his cheek where Harry’s lips had touched the skin. It’s all a very sweet delusion, thinking he could let himself love again without driving himself mad with fear of anything happening to Harry. Draco wishes things were different, but he can’t let himself go down that road again. He has barely managed to put himself back together once, he knows he wouldn’t be able to do it twice, and he has Scorpius to think about.

No, Draco can’t give in. And so what if Harry makes his days look brighter and the nights less frightening? So what if he remembers vividly the warmth of Harry’s skin and the heat of his embrace when Draco slept in his arms? It’s not enough to make up for the coldness and loneliness of the hurt when he’s inevitably going to lose him. It’s just not.

###  **JULY**

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get over Blaise the way you got over Harry,” Ginny says with a sigh, sprawled on the grass of Draco’s garden. “It’s hard seeing him constantly around with you or my other mates, and I still wish we could make up and spend our lives together, but I can’t forgive him yet for what he said to me.”

Draco frowns, leaning back on the grass next to Ginny, crossing his arms beneath his hands. “I’m not sure I can forgive Harry for what he said either.”

Ginny puts her hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You know he didn’t mean it right? He was just so upset to see you with someone else…” Draco looks at Ginny with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m hearing it now. But we both know that what Blaise told me was ten times worse.”

Draco nods. “It was. I still can’t believe he did that.” Draco looks at Ginny with a tender smile. “He came to me, you know, after you kicked him out.”

“He did?” she asks, obviously torn between the need to know and her anger. “How is… How was he?”

“He was a wreck,” Draco continues but remains stoic. He doesn’t want to guilt Ginny into taking Blaise back, but he also wants her to know that after all this time, Blaise is still not over her either. “He’s been hating himself for years because of this. He won’t let himself be happy, he says he doesn’t deserve it.”

“But I thought he and Theo—”

Draco shakes his head. “They’re just friends now. Since he met you, he never wanted anyone else as much. I think he’s been punishing himself a lot.” Ginny straightens up, a frown between her brows. “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve to feel like an utter shite, because he was one. I’m just saying that he should stop hurting himself eventually. You don’t have to forgive him, but he should forgive himself.”

“I don’t know. Do you think Harry should forgive himself?”

Draco takes the time to think it over. He remembers quite vividly the last time he saw Harry before he came back to the UK. The twisted expression in his eyes, the hostility in his words, and the disgust in it all. He also remembers the pain, Harry’s and his own. The tears in Harry’s eyes and the unshed ones in Draco’s heart. Draco breathes out. “Yes, I think he should. Our fight came from a place of hurt and anger, not a place of truth. And so did yours.”

Ginny lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I can ever get back together with him, but I’ll take a page out of your book and try to be friends.”

Draco smiles. “I think he would like that very much.”

After Ginny leaves, Draco pours himself a glass of Firewhisky. Scorpius is at Daphne’s for the night, so he has time to think — to think about Harry — with the help of some fifty-year-old Ogden’s. For months, Harry has been consistently worming his way into Draco’s life, whether or not Draco was ready for it. He’s the first person who isn’t Scorpius who genuinely made him smile since Astoria died. Draco wishes he could talk to her about him, ask her what she thinks… But he already knows, he decides after a heavy swig of whiskey. He knows she would want him to try, to try and be happy.

Draco takes another swig of his drink. Maybe it’s time he takes a leap of faith and entrusts Harry with his happiness. For real, this time.

###  **AUGUST**

“I can’t believe you managed to drag me here,” Draco whispers in Harry’s ear.

Harry smirks. “I didn’t invite you.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “But you guilted me into coming.” He clears his throat and starts to mimic Harry. “‘Draco, you can’t bail on Ron and Hermione’s Bonding ceremony. Now that they’re finally getting together for good, or hopefully so, you have to be there. Hermione would be so sad— you know how important this is for her, what with her parents being there…’”

“Hey,” Harry says indignantly, though he smiles a little. “I never said that thing about her parents.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “It was written all over your face!”

Harry grins. “Good to know that you can read me so well,” he says and wiggles an eyebrow. Draco’s cheeks turn purple and he splutters unhelpfully while Harry keeps smirking. “I’m going to help Ron prepare for the ceremony,” he says. “I’ll see you after.”

“Or not,” Draco calls lamely. “Stupid Potter,” he whispers to himself, rubbing at his still-coloured cheeks as he makes his way to his seat, on Hermione’s side. Scorpius is there, holding Pansy’s hand and sucking on his thumb, looking at everything with wide eyes.

The ceremony is a quiet affair. Hermione keeps glancing awkwardly at her parents and sister, to whom she eventually told the truth after years of reflection. They were quite pissed, and they’re trying to rebuild a relationship, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be, but Hermione has made her peace with that. She looks divine in her ochre Muggle jacket and skirt suit, her long box braids pulled into a bun up do with a white flower crown. Ronald wears iced-brown robes over a beige suit complemented with a waistcoat. He wears a flower crown too, and the biggest smile Draco has ever seen on his face.

They face each other under a white pergola covered with enchanted vines and white flowers. They exchange rings the Muggle way and whisper their vows in each other’s ear as the wizarding custom commands, then cast the spell that will bond them to each other. Rose and Hugo clap excitedly in the front row, and Draco notices Harry wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Draco is seated several rows behind, but he still catches Harry’s eye. They smile at each other, but Draco looks away when he feels his cheeks heat again.

Ronald and Hermione kiss, and Draco suddenly feels sick. He entrusts his son to Pansy and escapes the venue as quickly as he can. His chest feels tight and he has trouble breathing; even staying upright demands an effort. There’s a voice in his head telling him how despicable he is for making does eyes at Harry bloody Potter when everything should remind him of Astoria and their own wedding ceremony.

They had eloped, like stupid children, and it had felt right, casting the spell in the middle of nowhere in Wiltshire, just the two of them, with Daphne, Terrence, Blaise, and Pansy. They had laughed so much, Astoria wore a flower dress and had shucked off her shoes and danced barefoot in the grass without a care in the world. Draco was more reserved, obviously, but he had removed his robes and danced with her in just a shirt, trousers, and Muggle shoes, his sleeves rolled up and his hair ruined by the wind. It was simply ridiculous and cliché, and Draco had felt pure and alive. Astoria had that sort of radiance that made everything feel new and raw in the best way. She was a white light, soothing and blinding.

And Harry… Harry is just as bright as Astoria, but in such a distinct way. Where Astoria felt ethereal and almost out of this world, Harry feels real in all the best and worst ways. Harry reminds him of everything he used to be, and everything he hopes to become. Harry is fire, burning hard and bright, and Draco desperately wants to touch it, but he’s too afraid of getting hurt. It’s a warmth Draco desires above everything, but the cost seems too high.

“Breathe in, breathe out,” Draco whispers to himself like his therapist told him. He rifles through his pocket to find a Calming Draught. He always keeps a flask on him, just in case. He takes a swig and puts it back in his robes’ pocket. After a few minutes, Draco starts to feel like himself again, the memories of Astoria slowly slipping away, returning to the usual sad hum in the back of his mind. Draco pulls out a cigarette and slowly smokes, taking the time to feel more like himself before he goes back in.

The guests are ahead of him though, leaving the premises to attend the Bonding celebration. Scorpius runs to Draco, holding a flower bouquet in his arms. “I’m getting married next!” he says excitedly, showing off his bouquet.

“With whom, may I ask?” Draco says, laughing, as he scoops up his son and slowly walks to join the others.

Scorpius thinks carefully. “I think I’d like to marry Mr Potter. He has great hair and smells like treacle tarts.”

Draco laughs and rubs his nose against his son’s own. “That’s an excellent choice.”

“Hello, Scorpius,” says the devil himself. “Would you terribly mind if I stole your dad for a dance?”

Scorpius and Draco look at each other, and Scorpius gives Harry a once over. “I’ll allow it,” he says, and both Draco and Harry have to smother a laugh. He wiggles in Draco’s arms until Draco puts him down and runs to play with the Weasley children.

Harry extends his hand and when Draco takes it, the music changes to [a slow, deep tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLgD8z9vSXY). They catch each other’s eye, and Draco wishes he could drown in the green of his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” Harry says.

“You look passable,” Draco answers, smiling softly.

_Pride can stand a thousand trials, the strong will never fall…_

“Shall we?” Harry asks, never letting go of Draco’s hand. Draco nods and lets himself be guided to the floor where other couples dance slowly. The moon is high in the sky and little glowing orbs float around the guests, bringing light into the night. Draco forgets himself, close to Harry, the pressure of his hand warm on his back, the grip of his fingers light on his shoulder. He forgets people might be watching, he forgets about his fears, he forgets about the whole world because only Harry exists in that short moment. They keep dancing, in silence, just watching each other with a hint of a smile on their lips. The world could be burning, and Draco wouldn’t notice.

_Touch me deep, pure and true gift to me forever…_

A part of Draco remains aware of the rest of the world though, and that’s the only thing that prevents him from leaning closer and kissing Harry. There are many things he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to at this moment. Not here, in front of friends and strangers. If Draco must give up on his principles and take a true leap of faith, then he should do it when no one can see him fall, somewhere he can truly be himself when he offers his heart and takes a chance.

Draco lets go of Harry’s hand and steps away. He looks down and shakes his head. Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Draco looks up, silently imploring him to let him go. Harry swallows heavily and does, looking hurt and lonely, more than he has in all the months he’s been pursuing Draco.

Draco wants nothing more than to pour his heart out, to wipe the sorrow off Harry’s face. But that’s not how Draco does things. He’s not the kind of man who makes a grand gesture in front of other people. He likes his privacy, and he needs to talk to his son first.

So Draco turns away, grabs Scorpius’ little hand and leaves the ceremony without another word.

_‘Cause I’m kissing you…_

###  **SEPTEMBER**

“Draco? What are you doing here?”

Draco stands on Grimmauld Place’s front door in a Muggle suit, fidgeting like a fifteen-year-old. “I’m taking you on a date,” Draco says.

“You’re—What? I—”

“Stop spluttering nonsense and go put on a jacket,” Draco says, rolling his eyes and letting himself in. “I’ll make myself tea while waiting.”

Harry looks like he doesn’t believe his luck—as he should, Draco thinks. Dating Draco Malfoy is no small achievement. “Give me five minutes,” Harry says with a smile and runs up the stairs.

“Take fifteen. I want you to be presentable,” Draco calls as he puts the teapot on the cooking plate. When he’s sure Harry is upstairs, he allows himself to hyperventilate. “What am I doing,” he whispers, cursing himself for his sudden and very much out of character boldness.

“I’m ready,” Harry says, interrupting Draco’s musing.

Draco turns and his breath hitches. Harry looks amazing, even though his attire is only passable. He wears a white tee shirt that shows off his pectorals, and jeans that hug his arse just the right way. He added a blazer to make it look more formal, but still wears his signature trainers. Draco wants to forego dinner completely — he hasn’t had sex in ages after all — but he wants to take his time too — he hasn’t had sex in ages, after all.

“So, where are we going?” Harry asks once they’re in the street. Harry’s hand is dangerously close to Draco’s own, and if Draco is indeed flustered by Harry’s presence, he isn’t enough to start holding hands with him like some ridiculous smitten teenager. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. “Italian?  _French_?”

Draco smiles. “Fish and chips.”

Harry stops in his tracks. “I’m sorry, what?”

Draco sighs. “What? Am I not allowed to like fish and chips?”

“Sorry,” Harry says with a chuckle. “It’s just… It’s not very  _you_.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Funny thing is, when you spend a long time abroad, you start to miss the little things that speak of home.” Draco looks at Harry from under his lashes. “Fish and chips is one of them.”

Harry swallows. “Okay, then.”

They eat on the narrow terrace of the shop and talk about Scorpius and Teddy, Draco telling Harry how eager he is to talk to the latter — as being shoved by a blue-haired teenager with a duck beak chased by a horde of Weasley children isn’t what Draco would call a proper meeting. Harry talks about being Head Auror, and how he loves his job even though he wishes there were less politics involved. Draco speaks about the Wyvern and its eclectic clientele, from the old ladies to the curious teenagers, the odd Auror here and there, and an endless streak of Potions masters. Harry tells him about seeing the world with Teddy in the summer with Andromeda until she died, and Draco tells him about Astoria.

They share longing looks and secret smiles, and Draco has the distinct feeling that something fragile and precious is blooming between them. After they finish eating, they walk together in silence. For the first time in years, Draco feels at peace. So when Harry takes Draco’s hand and smiles at him, green eyes bright, Draco takes a deep breath and doesn’t let go.

###  **OCTOBER**

Draco paces in the kitchen, barely resisting the urge to gnaw at his nails. He left Harry a few hours back after throwing a fit, and though he doesn’t regret his harsh words, he does worry. He can’t even smash things because Scorpius is asleep in his room. Fuck.

Harry had received an order for a mission that required him to go on the field. A dangerous mission, or it wouldn’t have required the bloody Saviour to come along. Draco had begged Harry not to go.  _Begged_. When that had only made Harry look at him with wide incredulous eyes, Draco had resorted to more radical means. He’d yelled and ordered him not to go, threw a sloppy punch Harry easily avoided, tried to blackmail him and eventually started to cry helplessly. Harry had looked at a loss for words, and shocked by Draco’s admittedly strong reaction. In the end, Draco had resumed an impassive and haughty face. “If you go, we’re done,” he’d said and left in a swirl of robes, ignoring Harry’s protestations.

Several hours later, Draco wishes he’d done more to prevent Harry from going. He’s angry at himself for opening up and risking losing someone  _again_. He’s furious at Harry for not understanding, for leaving him to wait and hope for the best.

At three in the morning, the Floo roars in the shop and Draco run down the stairs.

“Harry?” He calls in a shrill voice.

“Draco,” Harry says and crosses the distance between them. Draco lets himself be held for a while, then pushes Harry away.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry frowns. “I thought—”

There’s a part of Draco that just wants to forget about the ultimatum and hold Harry until Draco is sure he’s real, safe and sound. But the fear in his stomach is in control now, and it refuses to let it go.

“You thought wrong,” Draco says, his face carefully neutral. “Judging by the new scar on your cheek, you went. So I ask you again, what are you doing here?”

Harry sighs. “Look Draco, I know you were worried, but this is my job.”

“It’s not. You’re not supposed to go on raids and such. You’re a thirty-five-year-old Head Auror, not a twenty-something young recruit.”

“Come on, thirty-five is nothing. Most Aurors go on the field until they’re fifty and more.”

Draco snorts. “Yes, youngest Head Auror in history. Do you wish to be the youngest to die in office too?”

Harry’s eyes open wide. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“Didn’t realise  _what_?” Draco spits out. “That I have had enough of losing people?” Draco looks away and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yes,” Harry says and takes a step towards Draco, who steps back in turn. “Draco, I can’t promise you I’ll never go on the field again, because that’s part of me, but I can promise you I’ll always be careful and won’t go unless it’s necessary.” Harry strokes Draco’s cheek slowly, and Draco can’t help but look up, staring into those earnest green eyes. “Please, can we still make this work?”

At the thought of losing Harry to his fears, Draco simply melts and falls into Harry’s arms, sobbing on his shoulder. Harry holds him for a long time, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and stroking his hair.

Draco still doesn’t know if he’s making the right decision. The only thing he does know is that he wants to be in this man’s arms forever.

###  **NOVEMBER**

Draco is rudely awakened when something worms itself between him and Harry. Draco opens an eye and isn’t surprised to see the head of his son poking out from under the covers as he settles himself against Draco’s torso, his thumb in his mouth. Harry rouses too, and Draco tries to communicate through eye contact not to move. Surprisingly, it works and Harry grins with wonder at the sight of the little blond head between them.

“So cute,” Harry mouths, still grinning.

Draco smiles awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to do with his lover and child in the same bed, especially since he hasn’t introduced Harry to Scorpius as such yet. Well, he probably has it figured out now and doesn’t seem to be terrified at the idea, quite the opposite really, but still, Draco feels uncomfortable.

Harry seems notice Draco’s musings, because he extends his arm above Scorpius and brings them both closer to him in a protecting and loving gesture. Draco sighs in relief. He didn’t know he needed that reassurance that Harry wouldn’t run. It’s one thing for Harry to say he wants the whole Malfoy package, it’s another for him to show it when it matters.

“Means I have two dads now?” Scorpius says, perfectly aware of the two very much awoken adults around him, and Harry laughs, clear and bright.

Eventually, Draco starts laughing as well, a bit incredulous at the thought of having a family again when he’d mourned that possibility years ago. It will never be the same, of course, but Draco thinks he can be happy with this. Harry isn’t his second choice. He loved Astoria dearly, but he loves Harry just as much. It’s no use thinking about what would happen if Astoria were still there, because she isn’t and never will be, while Harry is right there, smiling at him while petting Draco’s son’s hair.

He doesn’t usually entertain those kinds of thoughts, but Draco thinks that Astoria would have wanted him to have this. A family. Happiness. Another love. Draco doesn’t believe in true love and soulmates. He believes in reality—in  _this._ In his luck too, the chance to have been blessed with two great loves in his life, and a wonderful son.

He doesn’t know what else he could ask for.

###  **DECEMBER**

“Do I have to wear it?” Draco whispers. He shakes Mrs Weasley’s Christmas present, a blue sweater with a green D on it.

Harry looks at him, almost shocked. “Of course, you have to wear it. It’s mandatory for everyone.”

Draco sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles and pulls it over his crisp white shirt. He looks ridiculous, but at least the colour suits him.

Victoire and Teddy are chatting by the window, while Rose is going over a book with Dominique, and Hugo is running around, chasing Molly and Lucy. Draco is a bit overwhelmed by the noise and chatter, but he tries to keep a smile on his face.

“Scorpius seems to like his,” Harry says. He watches Scorpius wander around in pursuit of Crookshanks and Louis, wearing a green sweater with a golden S on it. Almost Slytherin colours, Draco muses with a smile.

“He does,” Draco says, hoping he doesn’t look to smitten with his son, though he knows it’s a battle he already lost a long while ago.

“You know, she just wants you to feel like you’re a part of the family,” Harry says with a soft smile.

Draco closes his eyes. Christmas is always a complicated time for him. For years, it only reminded him of everyone he’d lost and the family he couldn’t have anymore. But now, it’s starting to mean having a chat with Bill about the places they’ve both been to, having a friendly chat with Charlie and check up on how the dragons are doing with the new healer, congratulating Ginny on making Captain of her team. Most of all, it now means he gets to watch Scorpius flourish and be around family, and all while Draco is holding Harry’s hand.

“Thank you,” Draco says and kisses Harry’s cheek.

Draco watches the horde of Weasleys talk and laugh in the Burrow’s living room and laughs. The sweater is itchy, but it’s a small price to pay for a whole new family.


	5. The Eye of the Beholder (2020)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lifetime worth of trouble and then some more, Harry finally has the life he’s always wanted. But life isn’t all butterbeer and skittles, and happiness has its ups and down.

#  **THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER**

* * *

###  **JANUARY**

Harry wakes up with a yawn and slings his arm over where Draco is supposed to be, only to find empty space. He opens one eye and pats at the sheets. Cold. Harry grumbles and grabs for his wand to cast a quick _Tempus_. 9.30 am. Harry groans and gets out of his bed. He pads through the room, searching for pants and a tee-shirt. He ends up in black boxers and an old Chudley Cannons tee-shirt that he knows Draco will complain about, but he’s too tired to care.

Harry walks down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, still yawning, and heads for the kitchen. There’s a nice smell, maybe pancakes or waffles, or so Harry hopes. In the kitchen, Scorpius is talking to Draco about the latest shenanigans he’s been up to with his friends—Marnie Parkinson isn’t such a good influence if you ask Harry.

“Hi, Papa,” Scorpius says with a smile, and every time, it does something sweet and confusing to his heart. Harry bends to kiss his forehead and sits next to him.

“Hello sleepyhead,” Draco says and puts a plate of waffles in front of Harry. Draco leans forward and gives Harry a peck on the lips, and Harry can’t help but marvel at the beautiful domesticity of it all.

“Where’s Teddy?” Harry asks with another yawn.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Either still asleep or not home yet. I’m telling you, we’re too soft on him.”

Harry ignores Draco’s jab and takes a bite of waffle instead. “It’s the first of January and he’s twenty-two. Were you up before 10am after New Year’s Eve when you were twenty-two?” Harry asks.

Draco puts another waffle in Scorpius’ plate and thinks.

“In 2002, I was in the Amazonian Rainforest, drinking myself numb with tequila,” Draco admits and Scorpius laughs.

They keep eating and a few minutes later, the front door creaks open and Teddy tries to tip-toe into the house.

“Hello young man,” Harry calls. He hears a feminine voice and some giggles. “Do you want some waffles? There’s enough for Victoire, too,” Harry says with a smile.

Draco grumbles and goes to make more waffles while Teddy sheepishly comes in, holding Victoire’s hand.

“Happy New Year,” Teddy says, rubbing the back of his head. His hair is all over the place, and Victoire’s dress is all ruffled. Harry thinks his godson was close to shagging his girlfriend on the front step. “We’re going to take a nap first,” Teddy adds.

Harry raises an eyebrow as the two of them climb the stairs laughing, but lets it go.

Draco doesn’t.

“Wear a condom!” he yells from the kitchen. “Always wear a condom,” he tells Scorpius again who nods thoughtfully.

Harry smiles to himself and takes another bite of waffle. He wouldn’t change his life for the world.

###  **FEBRUARY**

“Draco, are you ready?” Harry calls from downstairs.

There’s a clattering sound. “Coming!”

“That’s what he said,” Harry mutters to himself with a grin. Old jokes never grow old, in Harry’s opinion.

“Sorry,” Draco says in a prickly voice, appearing in a dark grey Muggle suit with an emerald waistcoat. “I wanted to look my best for our Valentine’s Day date.”

Harry kisses his cheek. “You always look gorgeous.”

Draco smiles and preens, won over by Harry’s sweet words. No wonder Draco’s Patronus is a cat: he’s as snotty as they are and needs to be persuaded into good behaviour with sweet talk and attention. Good thing Harry likes cats — and Draco.

They Apparate to the restaurant, a fancy Muggle French place Draco has been wanting to try for ages. When they enter, the place is packed. The sound is overwhelming, people laughing and chatting everywhere. Even the air is heavy and hot. Draco and Harry share a look and turn back and out on the street.

“I’m not going back in there,” Harry says firmly.

“They’d have to pay  _me_  to eat there,” Draco concurs.

They stand in silence for a while, a few feet away from the restaurant. Draco pulls out a cigarette, takes a drag, then hands it over to Harry. Draco mostly stopped smoking when Scorpius was born, but sometimes the two of them like to share one. Especially when Scorpius is off at Pansy’s with Marnie and he’s not there to see them. Teddy caught them once, and Harry wasn’t able to do anything but glare at his godson when he lit his own cigarette with a smirk.

“Do you want to look for another restaurant?” Draco asks as Harry gives him the cigarette back.

Harry sighs. “Honestly, no.” He frowns and looks up at Draco. “Are you mad?”

Draco breathes out the smoke and laughs. “Relieved, actually.” He smiles. “I’m knackered. Work has been intense lately, what with the Wyvern being the new supplier for Hogwarts… I just want to spend the night with you at home.”

“Does it mean that I can get out of this tight, tight suit?” Harry asks, smiling from one ear to the other.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what it means,” Draco answers with a wiggling eyebrow.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Draco are slumped on the sofa in their joggers eating popcorn and exploding bonbons watching the  _Veela Diaries_  on the Spellevision.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day,” Harry says and kisses Draco.

###  **MARCH**

“Minister, how lovely of you to take the night off and grace us with your presence,” Harry teases when he opens the door to let Hermione in. “Ron is already in, and the kids are all at the Burrow with Molly,” he adds as he kisses her cheek.

“Thank Merlin, I just need a night without kids or work,” she sighs.

“Changing the world is no small affair, love,” Ron says as a greeting when she comes to give him a peck on the lips.

“Where’s Draco?” Hermione asks as she pulls off her coat and sits next to Ron on the couch.

Harry smiles. “He’s at Pansy’s and Marnie’s with Scorpius. They’re having a best-friend-double-date as Scorpius calls it.”

“That boy is the sweetest,” Ron says, then gets hit on the shoulder by his wife. “Oi! Don’t try to pretend that our sprogs are anything but little terrors. I love them, but they’re quite the handful!”

Hermione shrugs. “Not untrue.”

Ron tips an imaginary hat. “Thank you.”

“You watch too much Muggle television, Ron,” Harry says with a guffaw.

Ron’s cheeks turn purple in outrage. “The kids at the shop told me it was hilarious!”

“I’m not sure it was a compliment,” Hermione says, hiding her laugh behind her hand.

“You’re both terrible friends,” Ron complains and crosses his arms over his chest.

Hermione kisses his cheek, and he relaxes. Harry’s happy for them. It took them a long time to find the right way to be together, but since they renewed their vows and Bonded, they’ve been happier than ever. Harry thinks it’s not unlike him and Draco. They had to live their own lives before they could find each other and be happy. For a long time, Harry has mourned the years he could have been with Draco, but he knows he wouldn’t have Scorpius without those few years, and he loves the boy so much that they were well worth it.

Sometimes, his heart gets so full, he can’t believe how happy he is. Happiness had always been something for _others_ , ever since he was a kid. But now? Now he has a loving family, a wonderful job, and amazing friends. What else could he ask for, really?

“I’ve brought Quidditch 2K20,” Ron says.

Well, Harry could ask for _that_.

“Can’t believe you managed to convince Ginny to snag you a copy before release. You’re lucky she and Blaise made up,’ Hermione says with a smile.

“Draco refused to get me one,” Harry complains. “He said I’d be playing all day and that our sex life would suffer.”

“Too much information, mate,” Ron says with a disgusted pout.

Harry takes the game’s box with gleaming eyes. “He was right.”

###  **APRIL**

“Teddy, can you help me with this?” Harry calls from the car.

Teddy runs to him, his blue hair flowing in the wind, and helps him get the suitcases out. There’s a hint of salt in the air, and it makes Harry smile. He can’t wait to be on the beach and wiggle his toes in the sea.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t use magic for this,” Draco comments, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping on his wand like an itch begging to be scratched.

“Sometimes it’s nice to do things by yourself,” Teddy says, and Harry feels his chest swell with pride. Teddy is a grown man now, and he doesn’t need Harry anymore and it stings sometimes; but to know that some of the things Harry taught him stayed with him feels like it’s enough.

Draco rolls his eyes and catches sight of Scorpius running without a top on, his hair in disarray. “Scorpius, come back here!”

While Draco runs after Scorpius, Harry and Teddy open up the house they rented for the week. They decided to go away for the Easter holidays to celebrate both Teddy’s and Scorpius’ birthdays as a family. Teddy had tried to bring Victoire, but Harry had been adamant: it was meant to be just the four of them. Teddy had relented in the end, admitting that it had been quite some time since they had gone on a trip on their own.

“I think Scorpius is having an early teenage rebellion,” Draco says, huffing and puffing, his hands on his knees, and without Scorpius by his side.

“Or he’s just a lively nine-year-old,” Harry tries in a soothing voice.

“I’ll get him,” Teddy says with a smile. It took time, but Teddy eventually became quite protective and brotherly with Scorpius. As for Scorpius, he worships the ground Teddy walks on, which is a little worrying considering the trouble Teddy kept getting himself into during his teenage years. Thankfully, that period is over, and Teddy is a fine young man with good prospects as a magizoologist and a meaningful relationship with a lovely girl.

Harry sometimes wonders how such a troublemaker and unusual teenager became so tame. Finding love with Victoire probably did it, as she wasn’t too fond of his shenanigans. “She has a ten-foot broom up her arse, just like her mother,” Ron had once said, and Harry had almost choked on his chicken. In the end, Teddy had brought some mischief and colours to Victoire’s life while she had brought serenity and acceptance to Teddy’s. Of course, Draco loves Victoire and is delighted to see them together, and Harry tries not to roll his eyes when Draco talks about ‘how much good it’s going to do him’ to spend time with ‘such a lovely and proper young lady’. Honestly, sometimes Draco sounds like an old romance novel.

“Was Teddy like this?” Draco asks, looking tired. Scorpius  _has_  been quite a handful lately, and Draco is at loss as to how to deal with such vividness when his son has never been anything but obedient his whole life.

“Teddy was ten time worse,” Harry says with a laugh. “Scorpius will be fine, and so will you.” He kisses Draco’s forehead. “Now, help me with the suitcases while my son fetches yours.” Harry often jokes about it, but Scorpius has become like a son to him, and he suspects Draco feels the same about Teddy.

After all, they’re a family.

###  **MAY**

“Are you ready?” Harry asks, squeezing Draco’s hand.

Draco sighs. “No.”

Harry gives him an indulgent smile. “We still have to go, though.”

“Maybe you could go without me.” Draco straightens Harry’s dark blue robes. “You forgot to charm your grey streak,” he says and pulls out his wand to point it at Harry’s hair.

Harry shakes his head. “I like the salt and pepper look.” Growing old is a chance Harry thought he’d never have, and he cherishes every wrinkle and white hair. Even if it drives Draco mad.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“We can’t all have our hair turn  _silver_.”

Draco preens. “You think so?” Harry smothers a smile. It works every time. Then Draco frowns. “Don’t think I’m not seeing what you’re doing, Harry Potter,” Draco says. “Don’t try to flatter me into going.”

Harry laughs. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t. I’d like it if you were there though. It’s horribly dull there.”

Draco grins. “Quite a sell.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I meant it’s dull  _without you_. Come on, we’ll have fun. We can watch Hermione deal with her Minister’s duty while Ron runs after the kids.”

“Thank Merlin, Teddy grew up and Scorpius is an angel,” Draco sighs, and Harry knows he’s thinking of the two Granger-Weasley terrors and their equally terrifying cousins. Harry loves them all —  _worships_ , Ginny would say, but she’s always exaggerating — but he knows they’re a handful. Except for Bill and Fleur’s children, whom Draco tolerates best, especially Dominique, mostly because she’s a potions genius and helps with the shop whenever she can.

Harry tilts his head and sends Draco his best winning smile. “Please come?”

Draco sighs heavily and Harry knows he’s won. “Let me be clear, this is the last time I come with you to the Battle of Hogwarts Anniversary, Harry.”

Harry smiles and nods, knowing well that Draco likes to complain and be courted, but always ends up coming as Harry’s partner to every social gathering since they came out to the papers three years back. The only thing he asks in return is the silent agreement that he  _will_  make a scene about it each time.

Harry is only happy to get the chance to convince him every day.

###  **JUNE**

“How could you go on raid without telling me?” Draco yells, throwing a vase at Harry. He avoids it with a sidestep and sighs, holding the bridge of his nose.

“Because I knew you would have try to stop me. It was important!”

“It’s always important,” Draco sneers. “What about me? What about Teddy and Scorpius? Are we not important  _enough_?”

Harry feels the anger starts to boil inside him. It’s always the same fight, year after year, whenever Harry goes in the field. “That’s unfair, and you know it.”

“I don’t care,” Draco says. “Next time, you’ll sleep on the sofa. Indefinitely.” There’s a hint of finality in his words that Harry doesn’t like.

Harry grabs Draco’s face and kisses him roughly. “Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily,” he says and kisses him again.  _Kiss_  is a big word, though, because Harry is angry, and he always gets sloppy when he’s emotional. He’s closer to licking Draco’s face than properly kissing him, but he doesn’t care: he just wants to  _feel_  him.

And Draco isn’t any better. He’s clawing at Harry’s shoulders and grabbing his hair roughly, urgent and desperate. They trip on the carpet and end up on the floor, complaining about the pain and arguing about whose fault it is. Harry shuts Draco up with another sloppy kiss, and Draco seems happy enough with the opportunity. They roll on the floor, and Harry knows he’s going to have a hell of a backache tomorrow, but Draco is unzipping his trousers, so he decides to care about that  _tomorrow_.

“Don’t you dare do that to me again, Potter,” Draco spits out as he shoves his hand down Harry’s pants. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll do it again if I have to,” Harry says between two moans, pleasure or pain, he’s not quite sure since Draco is very rough about it all. They are both ridiculous, he knows, and it’s not the healthiest way to deal with a disagreement, but it’s always worked in the past.

“Stop thinking and bloody take care of me,” Draco complains, his eyebrows doing that frown Harry likes despite himself, because he can only see it when he’s pissed.

“Yes, all right,” Harry says. He tries to stop thinking, which is hard because he’s always thinking and—

“Harry!”

Harry smiles apologetically and leaves a trail of kisses — proper, this time — down Draco’s throat to make up for his inner wanderings.

“I love you so much, but you’re an arsehole,” Draco rambles, removing Harry’s shirt to lick at his nipple with enthusiasm, though it’s a little awkward since he can’t seem to shut up.

“Well, I love you too,” Harry says roughly and flips Draco on his back. Draco groans, and Harry smiles a little, thinking he won’t be the only one with a nasty backache tomorrow morning. As they kiss and bicker, the anger slowly sips out of their words, replaced by good-natured banter and sweet nothings.

By the end of their bout of sex, Draco is nuzzling Harry’s armpit and holding him close, eyes half-opened and mouth blissfully shut. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he whispers and presses himself against Harry’s torso.

“I know,” Harry answers, leaving a kiss on Draco’s forehead. “I don’t want to lose you either.” He sighs, running his fingers in Draco’s hair. “I caught her, you know. Helen Dawlish.”

Draco hoists himself on his elbows. “How do you feel about it?”

Harry sighs. “Like I'm ready to leave the field for good.”

Draco smiles wickedly at Harry and lets his hand slide down to his groin. “Want to celebrate with another go?”

Harry laughs. “Always.”

###  **JULY**

“In 2002, I slept with Hermione,” Ginny says, and Ron spits out his beer.

Harry guffaws. “You did  _what_?”

“Some fingering,” Ginny says and puts her hands on her mouth to prevent other words from coming out.

“Ginny!” cries Hermione, her cheeks red, looking pointedly at Ron who is still trying to breathe through the beer coming out of his nose.

“Truth or Dare with Veritaserum was a stupid idea,” Ginny grumbles and crosses her arms over her chest in a pout.

“You mean  _brilliant_ ,” Harry says, patting Ron in the back. “Are you okay there?”

“My wife,” Ron coughs, “and my sister!”

“We've lost him,” Harry concludes sternly.

“So, this is how you Gryffindors spend your time,” Draco comments with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione snorts. “Like you didn’t play drinking games during OVERCOME!”

Draco’s cheeks take a red tinge. “It was merely for integration.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she says with a smirk.

Harry laughs, and Draco turns sharply towards him, eyes squinted. He’s in trouble, he knows, but he can’t help but take the piss out of him sometimes. He’s just so easy to rile up, and it’s not like Draco doesn’t like it. After all, Harry managed to get him back thanks to sheer perseverance and stubbornness.

“Ginny, make me your _Obliviate_ cocktail, I need to forget about this evening,” Ron whines.

She nods and pours Firewhisky, Icevodka and some Muggle Gin in a shaker with pumpkin juice. She shakes it thoroughly, and Harry catches Draco grimacing. The cocktail is terrible, but it guarantees a hazy memory of the night. Ron drinks it like a shot and turns green for a second. They all look at him thoroughly until he burps and passes out.

“That’s it for us folks,” Hermione says. “I have to pick up the kids early at the Burrow tomorrow.”

“Thank Merlin, Teddy is old enough to babysit Scorpius,” Harry says with a laugh. “I don’t fancy seeing Molly when hungover.”

“I’m a bit tired though,” Draco says and gives Harry _that_ look. Harry tries to repress a smile. He’s getting lucky tonight, _very_ lucky.

“You’re good for nothing,” Ginny complains.

Hermione kisses her cheek. “That’s not what you said in 2002,” she whispers, and everyone laughs.

###  **AUGUST**

“Ssh! They’ll hear you,” Harry whispers to a half-naked Draco. They’d decided to make a small detour by this closet to have a short bout of sex when Blaise and Ginny had sneaked in to have a serious talk. Now, Harry is just trying to prevent Draco from getting too handsy while his ex-girlfriend is having a heart-to-heart with her _other_ ex-boyfriend.

“You wanted to talk?” Blaise asks sheepishly. He’s never been quite the same since that fateful day all those years ago when he trampled all over Ginny’s feelings. They’d reconnected as friends, but everyone had lost hope of them getting back together.

Ginny is a stubborn bird, after all, and she has perfectly good reasons to stay away from Blaise, hence why no one dared to tell her that she used to be happier when they were together.

“Draco, I’ll bite your cock off if you don’t stop trying to shove your fingers in my arse,” Harry says between gritted teeth. Draco shakes his head in annoyance and discreetly picks up his shirt from the floor.

“Yeah,” Ginny answers after a long silence. “I just wanted to say that I forgave you.” There’s another silence. “For what you said—”

“I know what I said,” Blaise says curtly. “I—Thank you, I’m glad to know that you moved on from this.” Harry winces. That wasn’t the right thing to say. “But I can’t.” Harry smirks. Better.

“I want to try again,” Ginny blurts out, and Harry represses the urge to whoop. “It’s not enough, just being your friend. And I know you’re not seeing Theo anymore, so…”

Draco rolls his eyes, and Harry narrows his eyes at him.

“I don’t know, Gin,” Blaise says, the utter idiot. “I still love you, you know that,” he adds quickly when Ginny’s face falls. “It’s just that I don’t know that we’re good together. We always fought, and one of us would sleep with some random person to hurt the other. It wasn’t healthy.”

Nice to know that Harry was just another pawn in their mind games, Harry thinks grumpily. Draco elbows him in the ribs, the jealous prick. Harry looks at him fondly, mouthing _I love you_ , and Draco preens slightly, though he keeps frowning a little. So difficult, Harry thinks with a smile.

“That’s why I’m not saying we should go back to the way things were. This suits Mils, and it suits Theo from what I’ve heard, but it doesn’t suit us.”

Blaise gives a tired, fond smile. “No, it doesn’t.”

Ginny sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to get married. I don’t want anything or anyone, except you.”

“Gin,” Blaise says, his voice tight with emotion.

“No kids, no wedding. Just you and me, forever.”

“I love you,” Blaise whispers and kisses her. He makes a move to pull her out of the closet, but she shakes her head.

“Go ahead, I’ll join you.”

Blaise nods and leaves, then Ginny turns, facing the spot where Draco and Harry are hiding.

“You two can come out,” she says smugly.

Harry pulls his trousers up and emerges from behind the coats, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he says.

“I’m not sorry. We were here first,” Draco complains.

Harry and Ginny both roll their eyes.

“Thank you for not interrupting us,” she says.

Harry nods. “How long have you known we were there?”

“I heard you ask Draco to keep his fingers out of your arse,” she answers with glinting eyes.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re a sap if you don’t tattle on us having sex in Ron and Hermione’s closet.”

Ginny seems to think it over, then smiles. “Deal,” she says and goes to shake Harry’s hand than freezes. “Let’s not shake on it,” she adds. “I don’t know where those hands have been!”

###  **SEPTEMBER**

“I don’t care how old you are, young lady. You are not to steal Gillyweed and smoke it in the backyard!” Draco yells at Dominique when Harry arrives with coffee that morning. “Wait ‘til your mother hears about this,” he adds and Harry guffaws. “What are you laughing at?” Draco shouts, looking cross.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Harry grumbles, handing Draco his coffee. “And you,” he adds to Dominique, “you are in big trouble.”

“I just wanted to try! Teddy told me—” Dominique puts her hands over her mouth, but it’s too late. She spilled the beans.

Draco turns sharply towards Harry. “I told you the stocks were off when he came over!”

Harry shakes his head. He really, really doesn’t want to deal with this today. “You, go home,” Harry decides. “And you, stay put,” he says to Draco. “I’ll deal with Teddy, you call Fleur.”

After a few angry firecalls and subsequent apologies from his adoptive son, Harry goes home to find Draco lounging in the living room, _smoking_.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry asks with a half-smile.

“Smoking Gillyweed, silly. I never tried before. Ha!” Draco starts giggling and extends his arm towards Harry. “Want some?”

Harry frowns. “Where’s Scorpius?”

Draco grins wolfishly. “At Molly’s. Louis wanted to have a sleepover. They’re making a blanket fort in Ron’s old room. Maybe the ghoul will help.”

Harry laughs and takes the joint. “Fine,” he says with a snort. “I can’t believe you never got high before.”

“I never said I never got high,” Draco says and motions for Harry to give him back the Gillyweed. “I said I never tried _this_ ,” he says and takes a long drag. “Do you really think a pack of Slytherins let loose in the Muggle world would never end in some shenanigans?”

“Who even says shenanigans anymore?” Harry asks, still laughing.

Draco puts down the joint. “Want to do some shenanigans, Potter?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows as he unbuttons his shirt.

“You’re completely stoned,” Harry says. “And yes, I very much do,” he adds and launches himself at Draco.

###  **OCTOBER**

Harry and Draco are both sitting in bed, reading a book. Harry enjoys those kinds of nights. A good read, and Draco’s warm presence against him. From time to time, he glances at him, relishing the sight of Draco focused, pushing up his reading glasses once in a while, his silver hair pulled into a bun. Twenty-five years since Harry realised he found Draco attractive — though he hated his guts then — and still, he finds beauty and novelty in Draco’s features. He loves every inch of him, from the little wrinkles between his brows to the scar on his chin from that time when Scorpius’ accidental magic made plates fly into his head. The lines of his body are soft now, but Harry doesn’t mind. He likes running his hand on Draco’s skin, tracing the scars of a life well-lived. He likes every smile, every tantrum, every fight, every gesture of love. To think he would one day have such happiness would have been a fruitless dream, but now? Now he gets to have this forever.

“I was thinking,” Harry says, and Draco looks at him from under his glasses. “Do you want to get married?” Harry asks with a crooked smile.

Draco sighs, and strokes Harry’s cheek affectionately. “You’re the love of my life, Harry, and I want to build a life with you,” he says, and though the words warm Harry’s heart, he senses a but coming. “But Astoria will always be my wife. I don’t want to be married to anyone else.”

Harry closes his eyes and leans into Draco’s touch. That’s a  _but_  he can live with. “I understand. As long as I have you by my side, for as long as we live.”

Draco smiles. “Thank you. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

###  **NOVEMBER**

“Harry, Harry!” comes Teddy’s voice from the front door.

“In the kitchen,” Harry calls.

“Harry, I’m getting married!”

Harry drops his spoon in the pan. “You’re _what_?”

“Oh Merlin, I can’t believe this is real,” Teddy says and starts pacing the room. “Victoire, she… She said yes! She said yes, Harry!”

Harry wants to say something and help Teddy calm down, but instead, he starts to cry.

“Harry? Harry are you all right?”

“I’m—” Harry says between two sobs. “I’m so, so happy for you!” Teddy beams and takes Harry into his arms. “Your father would be so proud,” Harry continues. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Teddy whispers in Harry’s ear as he pats his back.

“What’s happening? Who died?” Draco asks suddenly, coming across the Floo and dropping his bag on the floor before rushing into the kitchen. “Harry are you all right?”

Harry lets Teddy go and kisses Draco deeply.

“Draco, our boy is getting married!”

“Holy fuck!” Draco gasps then smiles widely. “We’re having a wedding!”

###  **DECEMBER**

“Merlin, I need a break,” Harry says as he Shrinks the last of their shopping bags. “We’ve been at this for  _hours_.”

Draco snorts, Transfiguring a bin into a bench. “It’s your fault for having such a big extended family. Honestly, thirteen adults and ten children.”

Harry sits with a contented sigh. “Well, I have to give a gift to my bloody  _cousin_  because he dates  _your_  friend. Also, may I remind you that you’re best mates with at least three of them, and dated another.”

Draco sits as well and crosses a leg over the other. “It’s not Gregory’s fault your cousin charmed him with cake recipes! He is very gullible, you know.”

“Can’t believe they dated for ten years before anyone noticed it was Dudley,” Harry grumbles.

Draco smiles fondly. “Hermione has known about Dudley for twenty years, I’ll have you know.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Great, one less gift to buy!” Draco says cheerfully.

Harry lets out a heavy sigh. “We’re done with my side. Did we count Blaise on mine or is he on yours?”

Draco rummages through the bags and breathes out in relief. “We bought a gift for his and Ginny’s new flat, so we’re good.”

“I’m going to miss the Witching Shack,” Harry complains.

Draco pats Harry’s shoulder. “Ginny promised the new place will have an even more wicked name.”

“So, my cousin counts on your side with Greg, then there’s Pansy and Marnie, and—”

“Please tell me we’re only counting  _one_  of Millicent’s girlfriends,” Draco interrupts.

“Are you mad? Of course we are,” Harry says, shaking his head. “So, eight on your side.”

“Twelve. You forgot Daphne, Terrence, and their twins.” He checks the bags. “We’re done here too.”

“Thank god,” Harry sighs and slumps lower on the Transfigured bench.

They remain silent for a while, and suddenly look at each other in panic.

“Merlin’s balls!” Harry cries.

“They must never know,” Draco whispers.

Harry takes his head in his hands. “How could we forget to buy something for our own kids?”

“It’s been a very trying day,” Draco tempers, though his cheeks are red with shame.

“We should take them on a weekend,” Harry suggests.

Draco taps his right forefinger on his chin. “That could be good. Scorpius has been nagging me to go to France for months.”

Harry brightens. “And Teddy could take Victoire with us!” Draco frowns. “Come on, you like Victoire, and they’re young enough to still tag along with us.”

“Fine, let’s go to France, then. I’m having a no shagging under our roof rule for Teddy and Victoire though. They’re way too loud and they think they’re being sneaky.”

Harry smiles and kisses Draco, topping off the Shrunken bags. Draco shakes his head as he picks them up and puts them in a larger gift bag.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the kids lately,” Harry starts.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“I think we should have more,” Harry says, grinning like a loon.

Draco seems to consider for a while, and Harry forgets to breathe.

“We’re not calling them James or Lily, I warn you,” Draco eventually says, smiling too.

“How about Sirius?” Harry tries.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “For a boy or a girl?”

Harry laughs, happiness filling every pore of his body. “Either. Both.”

Draco smiles and kisses Harry. “I might be persuaded.”


	6. No Place like Home (2040)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years later, all is (almost) well.

#  **NO PLACE LIKE HOME**

* * *

###  **EIGHT IN THE MORNING**

"Harry."  
  
Harry groans and turns in the bed, bringing the sheets over his head.  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry sighs and opens an eye. "What?"  
  
"It's Christmas," Draco says, already dressed in a crisp white shirt, and smooth black trousers. His hair is still a bit messy, but Harry isn't saying anything, he likes it that way.  
  
Harry glances at the clock, seeing the tiny dial pointing one hand at the seven, the other at the zero. "So what? Our kids are all grown up now, I get to sleep a bit more."  
  
It's Draco's turn to sigh. "I don't think Molly will be happy when I tell her we're late because you wanted 'five minutes more'," he says with emphasis.  
  
"Fuck, fine, I'm getting up but you're making breakfast," Harry grumbles as he discards the sheets and stumbles out of bed. He doesn't miss the interested once-over Draco gives his naked body, but decides to ignore it. That will teach him to wake him up so fucking early.  
  
Draco smiles fondly. "Breakfast is already made," he adds and Summons a tray filled with croissants, toasted eggs and steaming tea.  
  
Harry decides to reward Draco with a lavish kiss on the neck. He loves how he always smells of citrus and cedar, it’s intoxicating in all the best ways. "This is why I love you," Harry whispers, letting his hands slide down his hips. Maybe he'll teach Draco not to wake him another day, in the end...  
  
"Ugh, gross!" comes a voice from the hallway, but before Harry can look, the intruder has already run down the stairs giggling.  
  
"Did I forget to mention Sirius was up and terribly excited?" Draco says with a smug smirk.  
  
Harry groans and heads for the shower.

###  **NINE IN THE MORNING**

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asks with a yawn when he comes into the kitchen to find Draco sipping his tea alone.  
  
"Gone back to bed. She said she was traumatised and needed to rest her poor blinded eyes."  
  
Harry sighs. Sirius has never been known for her temperance and measure. "I'll go get her," Harry says, but Draco's hand on his hip stops him.  
  
"Don't go yet," he says. "It would be nice to be just the two of us before we go into the Weasley lair," he adds with a soft smile.  
  
Harry sits down and kisses his cheek. "Is Scorpius coming?"  
  
"With Marnie, yes. Astoria has been pestering them to go, and Molly hasn't seen her much since her third birthday, so he let her convince him to bring the little one with them."  
  
Harry nods. "Good. You know me: the more kids, the merrier."  
  
Draco laughs, "Don't worry, you'll have your fill of children by the end of the day. I heard Victoire is pregnant again, and that Luna is bringing her twins."  
  
Harry nuzzles Draco's neck with a smile. "Is it weird that this slightly turns me on?"  
  
Draco lets out another laugh. "It's not even the weirdest thing about you."

###  **TEN IN THE MORNING**

"Do you remember when we had only twenty something gifts to buy and carry for Christmas?" Draco complains as he shoves the endless string of Shrunken boxes in a bag. "We're lucky you're loaded. Honestly, this is quite a budget!"  
  
Harry laughs. "I'm sure Molly starts her sweaters on the first of January now!"  
  
"She actually enlisted Victoire and Audrey to help her out. Victoire protested that she and Teddy didn't have time with their Curse-Breaking adventures, but you know Molly..."  
  
"At least she left me alone!" Sirius says and crosses her arms over her chest, pouting slightly like the sixteen-year old she is. "I don't like the sweaters, they're itchy."  
  
"You're still going to wear it," Draco says firmly, and Harry smiles as he remembers Draco's bulging eyes the first time he got a sweater with his initial on it. "It's family tradition. You're lucky you have some. Don't spit on it."  
  
"Fine," Sirius sighs. "But I'm wearing my leather jacket over it."  
  
"Your namesake would be proud," Harry comments, and Draco narrows his eyes at him. He doesn't like when Harry encourages Sirius, but sometimes Harry can’t help it. He’s so proud of his three children, and he wants to be supportive of their individuality. It’s not that Draco doesn’t want that, it’s just that he’s more serious and disciplined than Harry is, but that’s what makes them a great team. That, and the fact that Draco can never get truly angry with the kids, while Harry is good at being the “bad Auror” when it’s needed. Draco may be the more rigorous one on a daily basis, but it’s when Harry puts his foot down that the kids get in line. It took time for Harry to get used to this role, but now he’s fine with it.  
  
Especially because Draco is very good at being bossy when the two of them are alone.

###  **ELEVEN IN THE MORNING**

“Sirius, hang up your Spellular and come down, we’re leaving in a few!” Harry calls from downstairs. An indistinct grumble comes from Sirius’ room. “Unless you’d rather I tell your brothers that you didn’t want to come and see them,” he adds snidely, making Draco shakes his head with a smirk.  
  
A few seconds later, Sirius bursts in the kitchen, looking outraged. “You wouldn’t,” she says, and Harry sees her bag making itself as her various belongings float down the stairs and into it.  
  
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Draco drawls. “And your brothers wouldn’t believe it anyway, they know you love them to pieces.”  
  
Sirius’ cheeks redden. “Do you have to be so lame?” She grumbles.  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco says, face closed off. “Do you have to be so rude?”  
  
Sirius and Draco stare at each other in silence, and Harry frowns. These kinds of silent fights can escalate quickly. They have been occurring more and more since Sirius started her teenage years, but recently, the tension between Draco and Sirius is palpable. Draco never gets angry, of course, but he can be… well, Draco, about it.  
  
“Anyway, don’t you want to see your little niece?” Harry tries, knowing how much Sirius loves to play with Astoria. “Scorpius and Marnie are coming with her today.”  
  
“Really?” Sirius asks, squabble forgotten and face bright with joy. Harry thinks Sirius is probably the only one in the family who loves kids as much as he does. And she’s sixteen. What is she going to be like when she’s thirty and more? Harry thinks he’s going to have a lot of grandchildren with this one. Three isn’t enough by far when Harry’s concerned. Draco gets overwhelmed at times — he hadn’t planned to have more than one child before he rekindled his relationship with Harry — but he has a soft spot for children that never ceases to amaze Harry.  
  
Sometimes, Harry looks back at his life and wants to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it all. To think he ended up making a home and family with Draco sodding Malfoy of all people.  
  
The things his sixteen-year-old self would say…

###  **MIDDAY**

"Sirius, will you stop pouting for once," Draco chides, narrowing his eyes at their sixteen-year old daughter. "Molly is delighted to see you, so be nice."  
  
Sirius sighs. "Fine," she grumbles, pushing a red strand of hair behind her ear, and pulling the leather jacket tighter around her.  
  
Harry smiles a little and hopes Draco doesn't see it. He knocks on the door, and it opens in a few seconds, letting out an overwhelmingly affectionate Molly. She kisses them all on the cheeks twice and hugs Sirius a bit too long. She's the youngest of her grandchildren, and Molly loves her to pieces. Sirius doesn't give back much, but Harry knows it's just a phase. She used to love Molly, and he knows she'll love her again once her teenage years come to an end. At least, he hopes so.  
  
The Burrow’s living room is filled with people, like it always is. Harry can see at least five children running around, weaving their way around the crowded halls, as adults are speaking to each other in confidential tones or guffawing heartily. The Weasley family house has always been a home for anyone who wanted it to be. Even after Arthur’s death in a car accident a few years back, Molly never stopped being the wonderful and loving matriarch she has always prided herself to be. Though she never even thought of dating again, she did start her own bakery in Ottery St Catchpole. She gives Gregory and Dudley a run for their money, especially when it came to her award-winning sticky toffee buns, but it is all good-natured competition. At events like these, especially Christmas, they all pitched in anyway and a truce is called. After all, Gregory and Dudley too have eventually become part of the family, each adorning their own G and D sweaters respectively.  
  
As Molly brings a roasted chicken to the main table, a few of her grandchildren play wizarding video games on the Spellevision. Blaise and Pansy have managed to seduce the whole Wizarding World with Busy Pumpkin, and they are now working on magical virtual reality with Audrey, Percy’s wife, who happens to be a talented Arithmancer. Harry smiles at Draco. Their two families are now so intertwined that there is no real distinction anymore.  
  
Percy himself has made Head of the Department of Transportation. Their two daughters have taken drastically different routes; Molly Jr was born a Squib, but it didn’t prevent her from becoming a talented Muggle actress, while Lucy is a bit lost and doesn’t know what to do with herself. It worries Audrey and Percy, but they decided to let her make her own mistakes and take the time to find herself.  
  
Fleur keeps making snide remarks about it obviously, if only because her own children are, in her opinion, the most successful of the Weasley lot. Her second daughter, Dominique, has become a famous Herbologist—Draco will tell anyone who will listen that it is thanks to him, to Fleur’s dismay—while Louis works together with his best friend, Scorpius, as an Auror—to Draco’s horror, who blames everyone but himself for his son’s choice of career.  
  
"Is Rose coming?" Sirius asks with wonder in her eyes. She worships her cousin who managed to become the youngest elected Wizengamot member while still living a lively life with her Muggle girlfriend in East London. The perfect blend of social success and personal rebellion in Sirius’ eyes.  
  
“Yes, and so is Hugo. Si, everyone is coming. That’s why we were making a fuss to have you there too, so be nice all right?”  
  
“Okay,” Sirius eventually agrees after a long silence and pads to the living room, dragging her feet.  
  
Harry sighs. He loves children, but teenagers can be a handful at times.

###  **ONE IN THE AFTERNOON**

“Dad!” Harry turns around to see Scorpius walking towards him, a bright smile on his face and the lovely Astoria in his arms. “How are you? It’s been ages. There’s a case I have to tell you about… But where’s Father?”  
  
Harry chuckles. “He’s talking plants with Neville and Dominique in the garden.”  
  
“Mother must be drinking then,” Marnie adds, kissing a laughing Astoria on the forehead after giving Harry a soft smile.  
  
“What a strange pairing, she and Neville,” Scorpius muses.  
  
During one of their trips around the world, Luna had met Rolf Scamander and fallen head over heels for him. Now, they have twins, Lorcan and Lysander and are tremendously happy running all over the world with their children in search of magical creatures. As for Neville, he had graciously stepped back, and to this day, no one knows how he ended up in Pansy’s arms as neither of them is willing to tell the tale. Harry is curious, sure, but what matters to him is that both his friends are very happy and have been for the past five years.  
  
"No stranger than your fathers," Marnie says with a smirk.

Harry grins. “She’s not wrong.”

“You always pair up against me,” Scorpius complains, but there’s a smile at the corner of his lips. “I definitely need Father by my side when the two of you are in the same room.”

Marnie guffaws, startling Astoria. “Where is Sirius by the way?” She looks around and adds in a more confidential tone, “Is she still being a handful?”

Harry frowns. “She’s not really a handful. She’s just a teenager.” He smirks. “You’ll see when Astoria is all grown up!”

Marnie raises an eyebrow, her face if not her words telling Harry that she is convinced that her own daughter is going to be the epitome of perfection and easy to raise. Harry lets it go: he had to go through adolescence four times, including his own, and it’s shite for everyone. Marnie will discover it soon enough.

Well, it’s a bit easier without a noseless bastard trying to kill you, that’s for sure.

###  **TWO IN THE AFTERNOON**

“And that’s when Aunt Mildred told me it was mad!” Molly says laughing, as she passes the peas over to Fleur. Everyone politely laughs as well, offering smart comments and knowing nods. No one dares tell Molly she’s been telling this story for more than twenty years and that everyone knows it. It’s easier to indulge her, it doesn’t hurt anyone. She’s been getting worse since Arthur’s death, and it worries her children a lot. Every Christmas feels like it might be the last she’ll be there, and Harry can’t— _won’t_ —imagine a life without Molly in it.

He feels terribly lucky to have her. She is the next best thing for a mother that he could have had besides his own. Harry had been devastated when Arthur died but hadn’t dared share his grief with the Weasleys. Though he knows he is a Weasley in all but name, he felt that when tragedy stroke, he didn’t belong. Ron had been furious with him when he finally admitted it, calling him names. “This war,” he’d say. “It took a brother from me, but it gave me another one.” He had taken Harry by the shoulders and said with terrible seriousness, “Don’t you ever doubt that you belong with us. You’re ours, and we’re yours, Harry.”

They had both cried in each other’s arms, and never talked about it afterwards.

Harry chuckles. Life is made of losses and finds, and in the end, he got the better end of it.

###  **THREE IN THE AFTERNOON**

“Merlin, Blaise and Ginny are disgusting,” Draco whispers with a grimace as he sits next to Harry in a comfortable orange armchair. He clashes with the colour, and Harry has to repress a guffaw at the sight.

“What did they do?” Harry asks, knowing Draco just wants to rant a little to avoid snapping at them later on the afternoon.

Draco gestures to the dinner table where most of the family is still sitting while a few others take a break from the tremendously long lunch in the living room. Harry can still feel the rich pudding settling in his stomach. “They keep looking at each other with googly eyes and whisper stuff in the other’s ear. They’re insufferable!”

Harry smiles. “You’re jealous.”

Draco narrows his eyes at him, then sighs. “Of course I’m jealous. We never have time to ourselves to just be _us_.”

Harry gently turns Draco’s head towards himself, then kisses him softly on the lips. “But they don’t have what we have, including our three wonderful children.”

Draco closes his eyes and breathes in and out. “Yes. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

Harry laughs. “Glad to hear it.” He strokes Draco’s hand lightly and Draco leans into his hand like a preening cat.

“Get a room!” comes Ginny’s voice from the dinner table.

Draco groans. “I’m going to kill her, and if you truly love me, you’ll help me hide the body.”

Harry guffaws.

###  **FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON**

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Harry asks Teddy who has spirited him away and into the garden to have a private chat.

Teddy fidgets and twists his hands, red bloats staining his cheeks. Harry hasn’t seen him like this since he came to him for sex advice when he was sixteen, and that’s quite a worrying thought: what could possibly be more embarrassing?

“Spit it out,” Harry says, his “serious father” scowl on. Teddy mumbles something incoherent and Harry frowns harder. Teddy sighs.

“I want to name our next child after you,” he says quickly and Harry’s face falls. “I know you never wanted me to call you Dad because of my father, but like it or not you were the only father I had. Well, there’s Draco too, but it’s not the same. You raised me, Harry, and I know you think of me as your son. And I want to pass on your name if not your blood.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He feels his hands tremble and his eyes wet, and suddenly he’s ugly crying in Teddy’s arms. “Harry or Harriet will make a fine sibling to Dora,” Teddy whispers as he hugs his godfather. “And I want Scorpius and Sirius to be their godparents. I talked about it at length with Victoire. You’re our family.”

Harry keeps sobbing for a while, and Teddy stays with him the whole time.

###  **FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON**

“Oi, mate!”

Harry turns around to see Ron waving at him from the other side of the living room. He’s walking with a cane, but he moves swiftly. Age was hardest on him, since he had to change his prosthetic a few times to accommodate his body. The strain of it left him weary after each fitting, but he’s doing all right with his latest one. Blaise and Pansy have been working hard to give him the best of the best, but there’s only so much magical science can do.

“It’s been ages, where have you been?” Ron says as he hugs Harry. “Hermione keeps ranting about you being too homebody for your age. You should come over more often.”

“We’re sixty, Ron, and we have a lot of adventures behind us. I think it’s fair to say we _earn_ the right to homebodiness,” Harry says, laughing.

Ron smirks. “Is that even a word?”

Harry thinks about it for a while. “You know what? I don’t care!”

They both laugh, earning some confused looks from those around them. Their complicity never faded one bit, to their children and grandchildren’s dismay. Their latest mischief had been to throw Dungbombs in Percy’s garden just to see his face. What they hadn’t seen coming was the retaliation. Purple hair doesn’t suit either of them, to Percy’s great satisfaction.

“You’re going to scare away Hugo’s girlfriend,” Hermione chides, but there’s a smile at the corner of her lips. “She’s been looking at you with huge eyes for the past few minutes like you’re destroying the picture of her heroes.”

Ron snorts. “Wait ‘til I give her the good old fart cushion when she comes over to dinner, then she can be disappointed.”

“The last decades in that shop didn’t do you good,” Harry jokes.

Ron waves at the air. “Gotta find the silver lining of aging, yes? That’s the best part you know, being able to do anything without consequences.” He smiles. “Besides my wonderful wife and children, of course,” he adds when Hermione raises an eyebrow at him.

“How’s Theo and the Bonding programs?” Harry asks Hermione.

She smiles. “It’s going well. We have a lot of volunteers, and the current programs are practically running themselves. Theo couldn’t come today and sends his apologies by the way. There’s a group of Muggle-born who wanted to see what Yule looked like in the Wizarding World and they begged him to come with them.” She laughs. “He’s the children’s favourite.”

“I’m glad it’s going so well,” Harry says. Hermione had two runs as Minister of Magic, but she stepped down once she had managed to make it a democratic system. Harry thinks she could have been elected easily, but she’d said that it was time for younger people to rule the Wizarding World, not the old guard. Harry respects that, especially knowing how much Hermione enjoyed the job.

“I’m going to go bother Sirius,” Ron says with a mischievous grin, leaving Hermione and Harry alone.

There’s a brief silence, and then they start talking at the same time. They laugh, and Harry waves at her to begin.

“I’ve been visiting Helen in Azkaban,” she says. Harry isn’t surprised: Hermione never quite got over Helen’s actions, but most of all she always regretted not being able to help her.

“How is she?”

Hermione sighs. “She’s all right. Malfoy Senior actually did quite a good job in improving the prisoners’ conditions before those extremists burned the Manor. So, yeah, she’s as good as someone in prison can be, I guess.” She runs a hand through her hair. “She’s opening up to me, at last, so I hope I’ll get to the bottom of things eventually. I’m getting closure, slowly.”

Harry clasps her shoulder and smiles softly at her. “And your parents? How are they?”

“They’re spending Christmas in Australia with Astrid. She’s become a renowned Arithmancer you know,” Hermione says proudly. “They invited me but, you know… I’ve made my peace. I have my own family now, and it’s no use crying over spilled potion.”

Hermione never managed to build up a relationship with her parents again, but she and Astrid are very close. It took years for her to mourn what they had, but she learned to love them from afar, and they learned to love her as well, as a friend if not as a daughter.

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says and hugs her.

“I’m proud of me too,” Hermione says in Harry’s hair. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

Harry pulls away, blushes and scratches the back of his head. “This is awkward.”

Hermione nudges him with her elbow. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

“I was wondering if you could recommend a lingerie shop for—”

Hermione raises a hand between them. “No! No! Too much information!”

Harry sighs. “I told you it was awkward.”

###  **SIX IN THE EVENING**

As the family start to dress the table for dinner, Harry escapes — he’s _so_ not hungry — to play with his two granddaughters. Dora and Astoria seem very excited to play with their Grandpa, to Harry’s wonder. He loves having his kids all grown up, but sometimes he misses the times when they were barely tall enough to reach for his arms.

He takes them in the garden, each one holding one of his hands. They play catch for a while, and Harry lets himself be caught because he loves hearing the glee in their laughter when they jump on him. The three of them eventually lay in the grass, and while Dora braids his shoulder-length hair, Astoria tells him about the gnome in Scorpius and Marnie’s garden and how she wants a Kneazle when she’s older.

Astoria looks like the very picture of her namesake, except she has Marnie’s auburn hair. She has piercing, gleeful eyes full of mischief and love, and Harry is amazed at her intelligence as such a young age. Dora is more active, running around and laughing all the time. She inherited Teddy’s metamorphmagus abilities and enjoys making pranks just like he did. Harry strongly believes that naming people doesn’t have to do anything with how they will grow, but he has to admit that in the case of Dora, she reminds him a lot of Tonks, even though she inherited Victoire and Fleur’s fair complexion and Veela traits.

It takes some time before Harry realises Draco is watching him, a soft smile on his lips, from the front door.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says simply.

The two girls run inside laughing. “No pushing!” Harry calls as they burst into the house.

“I love you,” Draco says when Harry reaches him.

“Me too,” Harry answers and kisses Draco’s cheek.

There is simplicity in life, and Harry treasures it.

###  **SEVEN IN THE EVENING**

“I see that you and Blaise made up,” Harry says in a confidential tone to Ginny as they change the plates for the main course.

Ginny rolls her eyes and shakes her head, making her hair flow around her. “Come on, this joke is getting old. We haven’t split up for like five years.”

Harry can’t help but let out a guffaw at that. “What was that last week when Blaise slept on our sofa?”

Ginny narrows her eyes. “It was a fight, not a break-up. Don’t be that bloke, Harry.”

Harry raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, you know I just like to get under your skin.”

“Well, that’s my job,” Blaise says as he comes in, throwing a mild stare at Harry as he goes to kiss Ginny on her neck.

Harry wouldn’t say that things are tense between Blaise and him, but they’re not smooth, that’s for sure. Well, he still sleeps at Draco and Harry’s whenever they have a fight, so Harry knows they’re friends enough.

“How’s Pumpkin latest development?” Harry asks.

Blaise’s face lights up. “Virtual reality is such a challenge! The Muggles have quite the head start on us, but Pansy and I are figuring it out. We have an army of Arithmancers on the job.”

“That sounds amazing! The Spellgame is already such a success, I can’t wait to see what you do with _virtual_ video games!”

Blaise smiles genuinely. “Thanks mate.”

Ginny clears her throat. “Are you done? Those plates aren’t going to Levitate themselves!”

###  **EIGHT IN THE EVENING**

“Can you get Sirius for me?” Scorpius asks, busy with an armful of Astoria. “I want to show her that neat spell the Aurors developed for the field.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t they supposed to be confidential?”

Scorpius smirks. “That’s why she’s going to love it.”

Harry laughs and leaves the living room in search of his daughter. He looks through the house but she’s nowhere to be seen, and Harry almost got bitten by the bloody ghoul in the attic. He still can’t believe that the dreadful thing is still alive and kicking. He decides to go look in the garden, and finds Sirius curled up in a patchwork coverlet, looking at the stars.

Harry walks slowly towards her and sits quietly next to her. “Is there something wrong, sweetheart?”

Sirius sighs and gives him a baleful look. “Everything is wrong.”

Harry lets out a heavy breath, extends an arm over Sirius’ shoulder and brings his daughter closer to his chest. “I could tell you that you’re lucky you don’t have to fight evil dark lords while struggling with your hormones and growing up, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help,” he says with a smile.

She snorts. “Indeed.”

Harry nudges her lightly. “Want to tell me why everything is wrong in the world?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sirius says with a broken voice. “You’re not scared of anything.”

It’s Harry’s turn to snort. “I’m scared of _many_ things.”

Sirius looks up and it breaks Harry’s heart to see that her eyes are red and wet. “Like what?”

“Of losing you,” he says. “And your brothers, and Draco… And everyone I love. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare and I need to take a deep breath and remember that I wouldn’t be scared of losing anything if I didn’t have so much in my life.” Harry sighs. “But yes, losing you all… This is the scariest thing I can think of.”

Sirius huddles closer to Harry. “Really?”

“Well, that and pigeons. Those things are the devil’s spawn.”

Sirius guffaws, then remains silent for a while. “It’s just that I’m so ready to be a grown-up already,” she eventually says. “When am I going to have what you and Father have? What Aunt Ginny and Uncle Blaise share? Or even Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron… You all have so much, and I yearn for it.” She shakes her head and wipes a tear from her eye. “No one likes me at school. I’m just a weirdo.”

Harry hugs her. “You know, all the people you admire so… They were all weirdos in their time. The things people said about me when I was your age… You have no idea. You have so much time and possibilities in front of you Sirius, the future is a blank canvas that you can paint the way you like. It will change, and ebb, and flow as you grow. You don’t have to paint it all at once.”

“That’s a rotten analogy.”

Harry rubs his nose against her cheek. “Well, I try!”

Sirius gives him a gentle smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

###  **NINE IN THE EVENING**

“So, how’s the bakery going, Greg?” Harry asks politely. He never got along that well with Greg, but he’s been dating Harry’s cousin, Dudley — who is now an all right bloke, surprisingly — for an eternity, so he tries to be nice at least.

“It’s going all right! Duds is really good with people, you know.”

Harry blinks, then nods with a smile. This conversation feels surrealistic. ‘Duds’ being good at something, and that something being people, is just something Harry is never going to get used to.

“I heard you’re expanding in other Wizarding cities.”

Greg’s face lights up. “Sure we are, the one is Carkitt is so successful, we’re going to try to take our business to the whole of Britain!  I think we’ll start in Bristol and work our way up north.”

“That’s lovely! But be careful, Molly’s going to be a fierce competitor!”

A big paw closes on Harry’s shoulder. When he turns, Dudley is smiling at him. “Cousin, always looking at the downside, aren’t you?”

Harry forces a smile. “Sure am,” he lies through his teeth. He tries to be nice, because Draco cares about Greg like a younger brother, but sometimes it’s really hard.

“Draco is calling me,” Harry says with relief when he notices Draco beckoning him, probably after he noticed Harry being in a strut. “I’ll leave you two to— Oh, you’re kissing now, all right, later!”

###  **TEN IN THE EVENING**

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time,” Scorpius starts. He had asked Harry to come with him in the kitchen to help him with the dessert plates, but Harry had not been fooled: he knows that crease on Scorpius’ forehead, and it means trouble.

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Harry says and sits on one of the kitchen chairs.

Scorpius sighs and drops on another chair across Harry’s own. “Why did you decide to quit the Aurors?”

“Well, your father was being a right prat about it, as you well know since he’s been impossible with you as well on the matter…”

Scorpius nods. “He blames Louis, but I’m the one who dragged him into it!”

Harry takes Scorpius’ hand over the table. “You know he just worries about you.”

“I know, I know,” Scorpius says with a sigh. “But don’t change the subject. Why did you quit?”

Harry leans back in his chair. “Besides your father, who really was one of the reasons I resigned, I just had seen everything I needed to. I knew the job inside out, and it wasn’t fun anymore. I climbed the steps, did my job, protected the people… Like I did all my life. I wanted something else, something more.” Harry smiles. “And I’ve always loved children. So when Minerva asked me to become the next Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, I couldn’t say no.”

“You are a great Professor,” Scorpius concurs.

“Why thank you,” Harry says. “It hasn’t always been easy, but I like what I do. Anyway, that’s it. I just got bored, bored of the job, and bored of having your father nag at me every time I had to go on the field. I decided my family was more important than the job.”

Scorpius sighs again. “That’s what I’ve been wondering. Marnie wants to have another kid, and I keep thinking, what if I get killed on the job? Or just maimed? I love my job, and I love doing it with Louis. It must have been like that at the beginning, with you and Uncle Ron. It’s exciting, and thrilling… But sometimes I wonder if it’s _right_ you know?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Do you think you’re the only Auror with a family? Most of them have someone waiting for them at home — someone they’re fighting for. Being an Auror is not just about the excitement, it’s also about the will to protect the ones you love, with your life if you must. That’s not a job for everyone, and it’s perfectly normal to have doubts once in a while.” Harry takes a deep breath. Draco is going to kill him if he learns about this. “Don’t ask yourself if it’s _right_ to want it, ask yourself if you’re willing to give up your life to protect someone’s family, or your own.”

Scorpius thinks for a long time. “I think I am,” he eventually says. “I want to help put bad people in Azkaban, and make sure my children grow up in a more peaceful world.”

Harry waves his hand in front of him. “Then you’re right for the job.”

Scorpius smirks. “I thought it wasn’t about being _right_.”

Harry laughs. “Maybe a little.”

“Are those plates coming or do I need to get them myself?” comes Ginny’s voice from the living room.

Scorpius rises to take the plates. “Thanks, Dad. I feel better.”

Harry nods and clasps Scorpius’ shoulder in a fatherly gesture, then frowns. “I’d be thankful if you didn’t mention to your father that I convinced you to keep doing Auror work,” Harry whispers, looking behind him to make sure Draco isn’t around. “I’ll own it if it comes to it, but I’d rather not have that fight.”

Scorpius laughs. “You got it. It’s just between you and me.”

“Thanks, son,” Harry says with a smile.

###  **ELEVEN IN THE EVENING**

“What are you up to?” Harry asks Draco who is typing nervously on his Spellular.

“Finishing an order,” he answers distractedly. “Ever since I started to do the shipments by owl, business has been blooming and that’s good but…”

“But you’re not fond of working after hours,” Harry finishes for him, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Draco sighs. “Exactly. I need extra help.”

Harry smothers a yawn. It’s in those moments he realises he’s not that young anymore. “So hire someone. You have the funds and the business to do it.”

Draco frowns. “But…”

“Look, we’re over sixty now. You shouldn’t be working yourself up over orders at eleven on Christmas day. Plus, weren’t you just going on about wanting to spend more alone time together?” Harry winks.

Draco smiles softly. “You’re right. And since Scorpius isn’t going to take up the shop and Dominique would rather explore the world, I better soon find an apprentice if I want the Wyvern to keep on.”

Harry doesn’t say anything about Scorpius. Sometimes, it’s easier to just avoid touchy subjects. “It would do you good to teach a bit. Maybe you should ask Neville about his Herbology pupils at Hogwarts! He gets along well with the new Potions teacher too, so he might give you some Seven Years’ names or former students to start with.”

“That’s a good idea,” Draco says with a hint of surprise in his voice. Harry chooses to ignore it.

“I’m happy the shop is doing well, you know,” Harry says. “You’ve been working so hard to make it the heart of Carkitt Market’s business.”

Draco blushes a little. “Well, Greg and Molly’s bakeries are giving me a run for it.”

“It’s not the same clientele,” Harry says with a laugh. “And you know very well that you’ve put two apothecaries in Knockturn Alley out of business.”

Draco preens. “That, I did.” He laughs. “Who would have thought that the Malfoy name would mean trustworthy goods, right?”

###  **MIDNIGHT**

Sirius bursts into the living room with a grin so wide it might stretch her face. “Fred is going to launch fireworks!” she calls and runs back to whence she came, probably the garden.

Harry looks down at his lap where Astoria is dozing and sighs in relief when she doesn’t wake up. Harry turns to look at Draco. He’s taken in a conversation with Charlie about the Reserve and has barely noticed his daughter’s interruption. Harry rises from his chair, delicately putting down little Astoria in his stead.

“Come outside with me,” he whispers in Draco’s ear. Draco gives him a strange look, then excuses himself to follow Harry in the garden.

Harry takes Draco’s hand and smiles softly at him. Draco smiles back and squeezes Harry’s hand, his eyes gleaming with emotion. Harry loves that they don’t need words anymore, that they share something so strong they can convey how they feel with just a look or a smile. When he remembers their youth, how much they didn’t understand each other and kept screaming and fighting, Harry is proud of how far they have come.

“I’m happy,” Harry says, holding Draco’s gaze.

Draco smiles back. “So am I.”

Harry feels his eyes water with emotion. He leans in and kiss Draco’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you stupid nuthead,” Draco answers, grinning, and brings Harry’s face closer to kiss him properly.

The fireworks explode in the sky, and Harry watches as his whole family comes into the garden to contemplate the stars and lights in the midnight sky.

He’s so happy he can barely bear it.

###  **ONE IN THE MORNING**

It takes time to kiss everyone goodbye. Molly hugs Harry too tight, like she always does, Ron tells him an hilarious joke, and Hermione tells him to call him more often. Bill and Fleur invite Harry and Draco to come for a lunch at their house to celebrate Victoire’s new pregnancy over French champagne (“One glass won’t hurt!” Fleur had said). Sirius is exhausted and cranky, but she diligently says goodbye to everyone before she goes to wait in the garden, her iPumpkin earbuds on and music blaring in them. She’s been really into Squib and Proud, Millicent’s new band. Sirius says that Millicent is the coolest old person she knows, and Harry tries not to be offended but it stings a little.

“Thank you for tonight,” Harry says to no one in particular. If no wizard is an island, it is especially true for Harry. His heart swells with the happiness of being surrounded with people who loves him and whom he loves. He’s so lucky, he thinks, even though he started off badly in life. He wishes his younger self would know how much he would have as he grew up, but maybe it’s better that way. To know that he earned it with his blood and sweat, and on sheer faith tomorrow would be a better day.

“Let’s go,” he tells Sirius and Draco, and takes their hands to Apparate them back to Grimmauld Place. Sirius rushes upstairs to spend some time alone after a quick kiss on each of her fathers’ cheeks, and Draco lets himself drop in the sofa wearily.

“I love our family, but I’m glad we’re back here,” Draco says with laugh.

Harry comes to sit next to him. “It’s been a nice, if long, day,” he comments.

“It was,” Draco answers with a sigh. “But with you,” he adds, stroking Harry’s cheek, “it’s always a wonderful time.”

“No place like home,” Harry whispers to himself as he lets his head rests on Draco’s shoulder.


End file.
